


24 Days to a Very Happy Christmas

by GizmoTrinket



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Belts, Bisexual John Watson, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Butt Plugs, Caning, Cock Cages, Cock Rings, Come Eating, Come Marking, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Condoms, Cuddling, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Felching, First Kiss, Flavored Lube, Frottage, Gay Sherlock Holmes, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Love Bites, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Masturbation, Porn Watching, Possessive Sherlock, Post-Season/Series 04, Prostate Massage, Public Hand Jobs, Riding Crops, Rimming, Sensation Play, Sex Toys, Sexting, Sexually Transmitted Diseases, Shower Sex, Snogging, Sounding, Spanking, Spitroasting, Spreader Bars, Switch John Watson, Switch Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-05 15:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 36,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16813306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GizmoTrinket/pseuds/GizmoTrinket
Summary: John Watson is everything Sherlock Holmes has ever wanted.Sherlock decides that enough is enough. He makes it a goal to have a relationship with John and try everything he's fantasised about over the years.Everything.A Johnlock smut advent calendar adventure.





	1. Cuddling

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd because I didn't plan ahead (you can tell because this chapter is late :P)

“Scoot over, will you?”

Sherlock lifted his feet and John manhandled them out of the way so he could take his spot on the couch. He lifted the remote and turned on the television. Sherlock rested his feet onto John’s lap and opened one eye to take a peek at what John was watching. It was some drama, boring. Sherlock closed his eye and went into his mind palace.

He was jolted out by John shifting around on the couch. He opened an eye in irritation to glare at his flatmate and saw that John was flushed. Sherlock could hear the noises from the tv, fake sex sounds. He nudged John with his feet to try and get him to settle down so Sherlock could go back to the important work of thinking. This seemed to make John shift more and Sherlock upped his efforts. This had gone on for nearly a minute when his foot hit something.

Something hard.

“Oof.” John winced.

Both of Sherlock’s eyes opened and focused on his flatmate. John was in a bit of pain but still refusing to look at Sherlock. Sherlock turned his attention to the men on the screen.

The men.

Oh.

John stood then, throwing Sherlock’s feet off him and the couch onto the floor. He mumbled something about tea and went into the loo.

Sherlock blinked in confusion. Why was John embarrassed? He was bisexual, it was a sex scene, something most people felt attraction during, and he had a normal physical response, probably helped along by the movement of Sherlock’s feet. If anything, it should be Sherlock embarrassed because he provoked it.

Right?

The toilet flushed and it took John a bit to wash his hands. He returned to the couch without turning on the kettle.

Sherlock gave him plenty of room, not wanting to provoke ire for his misstep. He even sat up and curled on the couch, tucking his feet under himself and wrapping his arms around his shins.

John sat down, sitting stiffly as he watched his show. Sherlock watched too, hyperaware of his flatmate next to him.

So when John’s breathing slowed and evened out Sherlock noticed. He looked at John, the man looked so different relaxed in sleep. Sherlock examined him, updating his mind palace John of new grey hairs, wrinkles, how his eyelashes looked as the light from the television bounced off them.

Sherlock unravelled himself, leaning over to examine John’s neck, sniff his breath, smell his hair, examine his nails, doing all that without moving enough to wake him was difficult and Sherlock carefully placed his hand between John’s legs. He noticed something interesting as he did.

John had masturbated while he was using the toilet.

There was a fleck of semen, just there, on his denim.

Sherlock stared at it, dumbfounded.

Sure, sex scenes in dramas were arousing, but they weren’t pornography. John wasn’t a randy teenager, needing to get off three times a day either. John should have been more than able to wait at least until he was upstairs in bed or save it for his morning wank in the shower like he usually did.

It was possible that it was more arousing because it was two men. Or…

John had denied his sexuality at every opportunity before Sherlock’s fall. But now he wasn’t so defensive.

Was it possible that John—

No.

Sherlock was well aware that John found him attractive. He had been hitting on him over dinner at Angelo’s, no matter how much he denied it after. But he hadn’t tried again after that. Even mocking Sherlock for when he asked him out during the Blind Banker case. As if Sherlock were so dim-witted as to not know what a date was.

He wasn’t Anderson, for godsakes.

Maybe, after that whole thing with Mary, John had finally forgiven him. He had moved back in, after all. And he seemed to be better after he handed Rosie off to her biological father. That man (what was his name again?) from the wedding. Sherlock was livid on John’s behalf but John just seemed relieved.

And now, John was sitting on the couch, fast asleep, having masturbated to either gay sex or Sherlock’s proximity or both.

Sherlock didn’t know which. He disliked not knowing.

An experiment was in order, he thought.

So, when John was so deeply asleep he wouldn’t mind a little jostling Sherlock curled himself around John’s body, putting John’s head on his shoulder, tangling their legs, wrapping his arms around John’s body, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.


	2. Kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snogging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta. Just writing and immediately posting. :P

John woke warm. There was a weight on him but he didn’t feel trapped, he felt safe. He cuddled into the warmth, thinking he could enjoy a lie-in. He deserved a break once in a while. He didn’t often get an opportunity. Sherlock was between cases at the moment and he didn’t have to go to work. There was nothing on.

He took a deep breath and let it out in a contented sigh.

That’s when the smell registered. He smelt Sherlock’s expensive cologne. His eyes flew open and he raised himself to his elbows.

A deep voice rumbled an incoherent complaint.

John was in the sitting room, on the couch. He must have fallen asleep at some point during his show. And Sherlock was there, curled around him like an octopus. Sherlock was on his back and had pulled John down so John was laying on top of him.

“Uh,” John said shakily.

“Shh,” Sherlock hushed him and tried to push John’s head back onto his chest.

John might have just gone with it except for the fact that Sherlock had a… _bulge_ that was poking John’s stomach. “Sherlock,” he said and swallowed thickly.

Sherlock opened his eyes and the corner of his mouth lifted in a filthy smile. “John?” he asked in a deep rumbling baritone.

“You… Um…” John didn’t quite know what to say.

Sherlock didn’t seem to bothered by it. He arched his back, causing John to gasp, raised his arms and stretched like some sort of big cat.

John felt the slow slide of Sherlock’s penis and it caused his own to stir in response. John jumped to his feet.

“Tea!” He said loudly and marched to the loo.

Once there, John splashed his face with cold water. “Oh, my god,” he said to his reflection.

John held felt Sherlock’s penis. His penis. Sherlock’s. _Penis._

“Jesus,” John gasped.

To make things worse (worse?), last night in his drama his favourite couple finally got together in a steamy sex scene. Then Sherlock’s toes had flexed and wiggled and John completely lost it. Sherlock must have deduced that John had gone to the loo to masturbate. He had to have. It was Sherlock.

John was terrified Sherlock might get the wrong idea. Yeah, he did come to thoughts of cupid bow lips wrapped around his prick with his hands buried in inky curls but he respected Sherlock. His friend. His best friend. His heterosexual friend.

Sherlock belonged with Irene. John thought Sherlock was asexual before The Woman. But then he’d gone and had a lot of steamy sex with Janine. John had read all the articles. Twice.

What was Sherlock playing at now? Pulling John on top of him and cuddling. Pressing his erection into John. No hint of embarrassment. In fact, he seemed to be taunting John, daring him to do something.

Could it be… Was it possible…

Was Sherlock bisexual too?

John did his morning ablutions, rolling the thought around in his brain as he shaved. If Sherlock were bisexual, did that mean he was interested in a relationship with John?

It was a dream come true.

John would have killed for a relationship with Sherlock (and, if you counted the cabbie, did) before the fall. Then there was the whole thing with Mary. God, that had been a mistake. Sherlock had come back from the dead, a miracle, and John had shunned him. John had hit him, had beat him, had been horrible to him, and Sherlock was still there sitting on the couch with John.

Laying there, with John, with a boner.

Fuck.

There was a sharp rapping on the door.

“John?”

“Yes?” John squeaked.

“I need to use the toilet. Are you almost done?”

John cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said in a deeper register.

He rolled his eyes at himself. He was acting like a bloody teenager. He set his razor aside and opened the door.

“Oh!” he gasped as he ran straight into Sherlock. He took a step back and saw Sherlock look at him piercingly. He was deducing John.

“Wrong,” Sherlock said with a flat look.

“Wrong?” John asked.

What was he wrong about? Did he read that John was considering a relationship with him? Was John about to be turned down? Would Sherlock tease him for thinking he had a chance?

“I’m not bisexual.”

It was like a punch to the gut. John had only a couple minutes to consider he even had a chance with Sherlock and although the possibility terrified him it had also electrified him.

“I’m gay,” Sherlock said.

“What?” John asked. But Sherlock was already sliding past him. John stepped to the side only to find the door shut in his face.

Sherlock was gay? Then what were all those articles? What was all that with The Woman?

John realized he shouldn’t be standing next to the bathroom door and left to turn on the kettle. It clicked off before Sherlock emerged and John made a cuppa for each of them and stuck some bread in the toaster.

Sherlock exited the bathroom followed by a cloud of steam. He had a thin white towel wrapped low around his hips.

John licked his lips.

He forced himself to look away, sparing a glance at Sherlock’s face to see if he noticed.

He had. And Sherlock _winked_ at him.

John’s heart fluttered. Was this really happening?

Sherlock leaned into John’s space, breathing on his neck as he grabbed his cup of tea, two plates, both slices of toast. He leaned back as if nothing happened and sauntered into the living room to the table in front of the window.

John exhaled noisily. He shook himself and took his tea and the jar of honey to the table.

Sherlock had a slice of toast on its own plate in front of himself and in front of John’s chair. He took the honey and dripped it messily onto his toast, catching his finger in the process.

Holding John’s eyes he licked up his finger before sticking it in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and sucking with a moan.

John slammed his tea on the table. He didn’t care that he burned his hand.

“Damnit, Sherlock!” He took a deep breath. “What are you playing at?”

Sherlock looked at John with hooded eyes and gave his finger a final lick.

John swallowed thickly.

“Normally you’re not this dim,” Sherlock said.

“What?”

Sherlock sighed. “I’m tired of this game, aren’t you? I turned you down eight years ago. It was a mistake.” Sherlock was agitated talking faster and faster. “I tried, so many times, to tell you, to show you.” He stood and started pacing.

“Show me what?”

“That I’m in love with you!”

John stared at Sherlock with an open mouth.

“Say something!” Sherlock demanded.

“I…” John didn’t know what to say. He still couldn’t believe this was happening. How had he gotten here?

With each second of John’s silence, Sherlock looked more and more distressed. He tried to hide it, but John could tell.

“Please,” Sherlock begged after John had been silent for a full minute.

That cinched it. This wasn't a joke. John stood, the chair scraping the floor behind him. He walked up, took Sherlock’s hands in his own and said, “I love you too.”

Sherlock smiled brightly and spun in a circle, pulling John along. Joy filled John as he realized Sherlock wasn’t taking the piss. This was real. Sherlock was in love with him. John needed an outlet for the elation he felt. He threw his head back and laughed as they spun.

Finally!

Sherlock let go of John’s hands and took John’s face in them.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too,” John said.

Sherlock leaned in and so did John.

Their lips touched and John’s thoughts scattered. He pushed into Sherlock, backing him up until he was backed into the couch. They had nearly a decade worth of pent-up sexual tension and finally had an outlet. Sherlock spun John at the last minute. John fell onto his back with an “oomph” and Sherlock spread his legs, trapping John between them. He knelt, caging John in with his arms, and kissed John again. And again. And again.

John was dizzy. He could barely catch his breath. His lips slid against Sherlock’s, Sherlock claiming them, tasting them, nibbling on them before licking fiercely. John opened his mouth, gasping, needing more and Sherlock’s tongue entered his mouth. He tasted like honey. John wrapped his hand around the back of Sherlock’s head, holding him in place as he licked inside Sherlock’s mouth.

This was happening, this was really happening. John felt blood go south and he lifted his hips but Sherlock was still kneeling and John found nothing but air.

He let out a keening whimper. This was too much. It wasn’t enough. He needed more.

Sherlock rucked John’s shirt up, his hand sliding up John’s ribs. John broke the kiss to pant into Sherlock’s neck, nibbling and kissing and forcing Sherlock’s hand out from under his shirt and onto his groin.

“Patience,” Sherlock said, nipping on John’s ear. He moved his hand back under John's shirt and stoked up and down his flank.

John groaned. He wasn’t patient. He wanted this. He wanted more. He wanted it all. He wanted it now.

Sherlock nibbled along John’s neck, finding all his erogenous zones before picking them each, one by one, and sucking bruises into them.

John tried to keep up. He explored Sherlock’s neck, but there was a lot of it and everything Sherlock was doing felt so good.

“Sherlock,” John groaned.

Sherlock reclaimed John’s mouth and John felt dizzy. He grabbed onto Sherlock’s bare back, trying hard not to claw it and not succeeding. God, he was a good kisser.

Just when John got the idea to reach under the towel there was a knock on the door and Mrs Hudson’s little, “Yoo, hoo!” could be heard above their heavy breathing.

Shite.


	3. Masturbation

“Busy,” Sherlock drawled at Mrs Hudson.

John was squirming below him, face bright red in embarrassment. Sherlock figured he probably felt like a teenager, getting caught snogging on the couch by their parents. Sherlock himself wasn’t fussed. They weren’t being quiet, Mrs Hudson probably came up just to catch them at it. She’d have the best gossip at her next game of bridge.

He leaned back down and worked a patch of skin on John’s neck between his teeth.

“Sherlock,” John squeaked.

In response Sherlock nuzzled down John’s neck, burying his nose under John’s collar where he hadn’t washed. He smelled, John, his scent strong under the clothes he was still wearing from yesterday.

“Well, I can see you boys are in the middle of something. I’ll leave you to it,” Mrs Hudson said brightly.

The sound of her kitten heels clicked as she went down the stairs.

“God, Sherlock!” John said, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Mmm,” Sherlock hummed as he bit at John’s collarbone.

John pushed him away and Sherlock sat up reluctantly. He carefully arranged his towel over his erection. John noticed and whatever he wanted to say was lost.

“I should get dressed,” Sherlock said. John was interested but his embarrassment from being caught by Mrs Hudson would persist and he wouldn’t be as uninhibited as Sherlock wanted him to be.

“You really are gay,” John said apropos nothing.

Sherlock frowned at him. He thought they already established that. “Yes,” he said when John didn’t say anything.

“What was all that with The Woman and Janine?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock said honestly. At John’s obvious confusion he decided he needed to spell it out. “All those interviews Janine gave were revenge. She made stuff up for money. Bought a house out in Sussex with it.” Sherlock shrugged.

“And The Woman?” John asked, refusing to be deterred.

“She was a lesbian, John. She was interesting and she thought I was some sort of kindred spirit. We were alike, in a way. I felt responsible since I made her hand her phone over to Mycroft so when she was caught by terrorists she’d blackmailed I saved her. Even if I were inclined that way she wouldn’t want more than to tie me to the bedposts and dominate me.”

John swallowed thickly. He had that same glint in his eye he had when he was hitting on her. Oh. Interesting.

“It would have become boring almost immediately. I’m not one to take orders,” he continued.

John didn’t look discouraged. That was good.

That was very good.

“We were too similar. She’s with Kate now. She texts me occasionally to tease me about finding myself a boyfriend.”

John mulled that over. He looked upset, but Sherlock deduced he was more upset about wasted time. That he would have made another move, tried again if only he’d known.

Sherlock was at a loss.

It didn’t look like John was going to move any time soon and Sherlock was getting cold. He stood. John didn’t stop him so he went to his room to put on some clothes.

When he got to his room he saw John’s computer, open on his nightstand. John would be busy for a bit, trying to decide if he wanted a shower now or a bath later tonight (he’ll decide on the bath, having masturbated last night), then he’ll need to dress and then he’ll start in on the breakfast dishes or open up the newspaper.

Sherlock had plenty of time.

The battery had been run down but there was still plenty of charge for what Sherlock needed it for.

He unwrapped the towel from his waist and slid open the drawer, taking a dildo and lubricant out. He leaned back on the bed, feet planted firmly and legs spread wide. He took John’s laptop and opened a window. Normally he did this with private browsing but with the change in his and John’s relationship, he felt secure in letting John know what he liked.

As he browsed he worked his cock, spreading lubricant and working himself up to full hardness.

He pulled up a promising video. A lanky young man with dark hair was in the middle of two soldiers. It looked like at a base camp. There was a short blond man, he had a captain's insignia and he looked to be in charge despite the man who was in a major’s uniform.

Sherlock bit back a moan when a third joined them.

Soon the man was sitting on a prick while the captain was sucking his dick and he was sucking the major’s.

Sherlock fondled his balls then reached behind, applying lube to his hole. He worked a finger in and a second.

When the man was on his knees, taking it from behind, Sherlock lubed up the dildo and slid his hips down.

The man on the screen was clearly enjoying the rough treatment. Sherlock hissed as he slid the dildo home.

The dildo was hard unforgiving plastic. Smooth and slightly curved at the tip. He twisted his arm.

“Ah!” the tip of the dildo rubbed his prostate. He arched his back and the laptop teetered dangerously.

Now the blond captain was fucking the brunette. Looks like everyone got a turn. Sherlock grunted as he matched the rhythm. He heard the bathroom door open but dismissed it.

“Oh, oh, oh!” he panted as he rubbed the dildo over the little nub again and again and again.

“Oh, my god,” he heard and he turned his head. He’d forgotten that the glass from the bathroom was clear, though the angle wasn’t good it didn’t take him to observe that he was masturbating on his bed.

John walked through the door, staring at Sherlock with an open mouth.

The brunette on the screen climaxed just as John walked over to see what he was watching.

“Fuck,” John gasped. “Rewind it,” he demanded.

Sherlock did. He wasn’t watching the screen though, he was watching John palm himself through his trousers. What was happening? He had a methodical plan for seducing John Watson and this wasn’t part of it.

“Do you mind?” John asked, hand on his button.

“Not at all,” Sherlock said. He was actually looking forward to it.

He’d deduced the size of John’s cock, had seen his trousers tented, had even seen it flaccid on occasion. Never had he seen it exposed and erect. His heart rate sped up.

John shifted, nudging Sherlock so he could sit on the mattress and see the screen. He took Sherlock’s lube and with a tongue peeking out from between his lips he worked himself.

Sherlock watched him, matching John’s downward strokes by thrusting up with the dildo.

The man on the screen was sucking cock while taking it up his arse. “God, that’s hot,” John said.

He looked over and Sherlock met his eyes. “You like that?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock said. He didn’t know if John was talking about what was happening in the video or if he was talking about his cock. It didn’t matter either way.

John’s gasps and panting mixed with the video and Sherlock found himself losing control. His aim with the dildo failed, he moved it in and out as best he could while stroking his cock, working the shaft with a slight twist at the end. John gave up all pretence of watching the video and knocked his laptop to the side so he could watch Sherlock.

Sherlock spread his legs further, his eyes glued to John’s large cock. It wasn’t outrageously large, but it wasn’t average, either. It was a deep dusky red, glistening with lube. He groaned when John sped up.

They raced each other, simultaneously trying to move quickly and hold out as long as possible.

John used his free hand to yank Sherlock’s hair, pulling him over for a messy kiss.

Sherlock groaned into John’s mouth. He felt almost overwhelmed.

“God you’re gorgeous,” John said, nipping Sherlock’s upper lip.

The praise went straight to Sherlock’s cock. He came with a shout, angling his hips so he could mark John’s stomach.

_Mine,_ a little voice in Sherlock’s head said. He agreed with it and admired the darkening marks all over John’s neck.

John shuddered and twelve strokes later buried his head in Sherlock’s neck. He came, stifling his cry with Sherlock’s shoulder.

Sherlock nuzzled the top of John’s head. He was content.

“I need a shower,” John complained, looking at the thick white mess on his stomach and legs.

Sherlock smiled, thinking he wanted John to leave it. There was more come than usual, thanks to the prostate stimulation.

John looked up, kissing Sherlock sweetly before standing and walking weak-kneed back into the bathroom.

Sherlock saved the video to John's desktop. It might come in handy later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene I’m describing in Sherlock’s porno is from my fic: [Crossing Swords](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15367647).


	4. Coming in Pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porn :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how rabies vaccines and rules work in the UK so suspend belief.

John yawned as he browsed the paper. John was pretty sure there was nothing in there that Sherlock would consider of interest. Just political scandals and tabloid gossip. He was just considering getting his laptop from where it was charging so he could see if there was something on his blog when Sherlock strolled in.

“Lestrade has a case,” he said while looking at his phone.

\----

Three days later John limped up the stairs with Sherlock’s help. He was embarrassed, the suspect had trained her housecat to attack any intruders and he stepped forward to protect Sherlock from the beast. He hadn’t anticipated how difficult it was to fight a nine-pound animal hell-bent on eating his leg.

Lestrade hadn’t teased John about the marks all over his neck. Just said, “About damn time,” (which made Sherlock strut around the scene proudly) and moved on to the case.

He had Sherlock help him into the bathroom. Sherlock left to get their first aid kit and John shifted anxiously. He and Sherlock hadn’t had any alone time since the case started. The last time they’d been naked together was when they’d watched porn together. John was hoping that the next time they were naked they’d progress to touching each other. He normally didn’t have a problem cleaning Sherlock’s injuries or having Sherlock clean his but now their relationship was different. John didn’t want Sherlock to see him weak or injured.

Sherlock came in with the supplies and looked confused.

“John?” he asked, looking at John’s blood-soaked denims.

John took the first aid kit with a thanks and tried to close the door.

Sherlock wasn’t having any of it. He forced his way back in and bossily told John to strip.

There was no arguing with Sherlock when he was like this. John gave in and removed his shoes, socks and jeans. Sherlock knelt between his legs and John swallowed thickly. Sherlock carefully blotted away dried blood with a cold flannel. Sherlock was methodical yet gentle. There was nothing inherently sexual about the act but John felt worshipped. 

“You’ll have to get shots,” Sherlock said. “We should have taken you to A&E.”

“I’m sure the cat had his rabies vaccination,” John argued.

“Do you want to take that risk?”

“No.” He sighed. Sherlock was always right.

Still, he much preferred Sherlock’s cleaning of his wounds than some nurse’s. Especially as he’d have to tell them what happened. _“I was mauled by an attack housecat,”_ was just the type of story that they’d gossip over and laugh.

John looked down at Sherlock fondly. Sherlock didn’t laugh. In fact, John wouldn’t be surprised if he came home to find a kitten Sherlock decided to train for them to have. He also didn't tease John or mock his masculinity. He treated John the way he always had before. Which, John thought, was a big hint that they'd been in love with each other from the beginning.

Sherlock took out the antibiotic ointment and started spreading it over his cuts.

“Good thing you shave your legs. Don’t have to worry about the hair getting caught up in the scabs,” Sherlock said.

John blushed. It wasn’t his most manly habit, but his girlfriends seemed to appreciate it.

“Won’t be able to shave for a bit,” Sherlock continued.

Then he looked up at John through his eyelashes. “Should take advantage of it,” he said.

John swallowed. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well…” Sherlock’s eyes flicked over to the candles John kept on the edge of the tub.

“No,” John said.

Sherlock pouted and looked put out.

John frowned. What was he getting into here? His tastes in sex certainly weren’t vanilla by any means, but wax play wasn’t something he’d ever tried. It wasn’t something he’d ever wanted to try either. He was too afraid of injuring his partner or getting injured himself. Serious burns weren’t fun and wax play done wrong could leave scars.

He trusted Sherlock, though. Sure, Sherlock experimented on him occasionally but never with anything that had lasting consequences. He was careful, methodical and always made sure John was ok after. Much like he was being with John’s bites and scratches.

“Not yet,” John amended.

There was a lot they had to take care of first. Safe words, limits and John wanted to work up to that. He wanted sweet sex, romantic blow jobs and desperate frottage before he got into the more serious stuff.

Sherlock smirked and started putting plasters over the deeper lacerations and bites.

“Thank you,” John said when he was done.

“You’re welcome. Thank you for steeping in that beast’s path.”

“Someone’s got to protect you,” John said. “Going in there blind. What were you thinking? There could have been anything in that flat.”

“Including a murderous cat,” Sherlock said.

They laughed together.

John carded his fingers through Sherlock’s hair marvelling at its softness and the fact that he could do that now.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

Sherlock rose up on his knees and pulls John down for a kiss.

Their lips touched once, a chaste peck. Then Sherlock pulled John down again, and again, and then held John, a large hand wrapped around John’s neck, long fingers buried in John’s hair, for a filthy kiss. Their tongues slid together. John cradled Sherlock’s face in his hands, running his thumb across Sherlock’s cheekbone.

“Sherlock,” he moaned when Sherlock pulled back for air.

“John,” Sherlock gasped.

John went in for another kiss but Sherlock pulled away, gripping John’s thighs with his hands. He pulled on them. Spreading them. Then he dove for John’s crotch.

“Jesus Christ!” John shouted as Sherlock started mouthing his penis through his pants.

He didn’t use any teeth but did lick. Dragging his tongue down John’s shaft. Over one testicle then the other before moving back to John’s cock, sucking it through the fabric.

John felt his pants get moist from Sherlock’s saliva. He groaned at the sensations. He didn’t want Sherlock to stop but he desperately wanted to pull Sherlock off so he could remove the damn pants and let Sherlock go to town on his cock directly.

Sherlock sucked and licked, rolled John’s bollocks with one hand, massaging them. Then he pulled off, looked up at John and used his other hand to massage the head of his prick.

“Jooohn,” he moaned.

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John gasped. He was close. So close. Sherlock had been working on him for some minutes and John was dizzy with arousal.

Sherlock kissed him, devouring him, owning him.

“Sher— Sher—” he gasped every time Sherlock took a breath.

Then Sherlock moved down to John’s neck. John had intended to tell him that he wasn’t allowed to leave marks anymore (they weren’t sixteen anymore) but he was too far gone to care. Sherlock sucked and nibbled down one side then the other.

“Come, John,” he whispered in John’s ear. “Come for me.”

Then he pulled John’s shirt to the side and bit John’s shoulder.

John nearly screamed as he came.

“Fuck,” he said, trying to catch his breath.

“Mmm,” Sherlock hummed happily.

“You just made me come in my pants,” John said. “That was ridiculous. That was… That was bloody amazing is what that was.”

Sherlock looked smug.

“Come on,” he said. “We need to get you to A&E for those shots.”

John realized he couldn’t take a shower without rebandaging and disinfecting his legs. He glared at Sherlock who showed no signs of remorse.

“I’ll change then we can go,” Sherlock said.

They’d been sitting in a dirty ally for five hours. John should have insisted on a shower first but too late now. He kicked off his pants and ran hot water over the flannel.

Maybe, when they got back he could have a shower and have Sherlock bandage him up again. He'd take off his pants next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It tickles me that it’s canon that John Watson shaves his legs. I know it was for The Hobbit but still!


	5. Shower Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get steamy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember that I don’t have a beta for these because I decided to do this last minute and I’m not even doing the advent calendar challenge properly. I am posting these immediately after I write them. Hopefully the chapters aren't so horrible that you can overlook the little things.

Sherlock knew that John would want some sort of revenge for making him come in his pants when he still needed to go out and couldn’t take a shower. Sherlock just wasn’t sure what form that revenge would take.

A&E took hours and while Sherlock waited John nodded off twice.

When they were done Sherlock hailed a cab.

Sometimes Sherlock forgot that John was so small. Each time he helped him up the stairs (which happened far too frequently for Sherlock’s liking), John’s arm wrapped around Sherlock’s shoulders and Sherlock’s arm around John’s waist, he was surprised at how short he was. John had the incredible ability to take the whole room or be invisible.

And now, he’d been injured, again. Because of Sherlock, again. If Sherlock hadn’t gone in there blind John wouldn’t have had to take the metaphorical bullet. What if it was a real bullet next time?

“Sherlock?” John asked.

“Hm?” Sherlock came out of his thoughts to look at John. His face was hidden in shadow. Sherlock caught glimpses of his expression every time a car drove past.

He looked angry.

“You’re thinking about leaving me behind again,” he accused.

“No—” Sherlock started to deny but John cut him off.

“No, don’t lie. I know that look. I saw that look in your eyes before you jumped off that building and I swear to god if you do that again, if you try to leave me behind I will… I will…” John stammered trying to think of a threat.

Sherlock didn’t want John to think of any threats. Because the threats John would think of would involve withholding sex or ending their new relationship.

“Alright,” Sherlock said, agreeing and ending the conversation. He would just have to be more careful. It wasn’t just him anymore.

John strode out of the cab as soon as it stopped. Sherlock could tell he was in pain, that he wanted to limp but that he was too proud to stop now. He stopped at the foot of the stairs. He’d allowed Sherlock to help him up the first time.

“Let me,” Sherlock said, coming up next to him.

After an internal struggle, John held out his arm.

Feeling a little impish, Sherlock swept John off his feet and carried him bridal style. John wiggled and yelled and Sherlock was reminded of the cat that caused this whole mess. The shots had energized John but not so much that he was able to free himself.

Sherlock dropped John on his bed and followed him down to kiss him.

John allowed the kiss and Sherlock was pleasantly surprised to find John being passive. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck and deepened the kiss. Sherlock groaned into his mouth.

Then the world turned upside down. John was straddling his legs and hips, pinning him to the bed. His wrists were trapped above his head. He put up a token struggle then looked up at John, licking his lips.

“You’re pleased with yourself,” John said.

“I can’t think of a better place to be,” Sherlock replied lazily. He lifted his hips as much as he could, grinding his crotch against John, just in case John didn’t understand.

Sherlock liked it when John let Sherlock be in control but he wasn't opposed to him taking the lead either.

John rolled his eyes but smiled. He leaned down for a kiss but didn’t let Sherlock free.

“Is this your revenge?” Sherlock asked. He found himself half hard already. If John ended it now he’d have to have a wank.

He didn’t want it to end now.

John just hummed in response. Then he ground his crotch against Sherlock’s once, twice then in a slow steady rhythm that drove Sherlock wild.

“John,” he whined. He wanted more. He needed more.

John leaned down and kissed Sherlock slowly. Their tongues twisted as their crotches slid against each other. Sherlock felt warm, he yearned to swap their positions, to make John squirm below him. Not that he was unhappy where he was, in fact, he found being at John’s mercy thrilling.

“I’m going to take a shower,” John announced. He let Sherlock go and crawled off the bed.

“What?!” Sherlock squawked.

“I’ve needed one for ages.” John started taking off his clothes.

Sherlock watched the process with wide eyes. John was aroused and he was taking that arousal outside the room.

“John!” Sherlock said, demanding he come back and let him have at that erection and the rest of John with it.

John just laughed and walked into the bathroom.

Sherlock was nonplussed. He listed to the sound of the shower turning on, John adjusting the taps, watching the clear glass start to fog with the steam, in bewilderment.

John opened the door, stuck his head out and asked Sherlock, “Well? Are you going to join me or not?”

Sherlock leapt out of the bed and scrambled into the room. He shut the door behind him and chased John into the shower.

The water was hot. Hotter than he liked it. John had once said he had only cold and lukewarm showers in Afghanistan so he liked baths when he could get them and hot showers when he couldn't.

Sherlock crowded John up against the tile. He kissed John, groaning into his mouth when John reached down between them and stroked Sherlock’s erection. Sherlock broke the kiss to thrust forward. He rolled his head back as John stroked him.

Water didn’t work well as a lubricant so Sherlock uncapped his conditioner and poured a generous amount onto his hand. He leaned down to spread some on both his and John’s erections. Then he had to bend down so he could take them both in hand.

“Why are you so short?” Sherlock grumbled.

“Shut it,” John said and pulled Sherlock’s head down for a kiss.

The hot spray rained down on Sherlock’s back. He felt warm, too warm. He wrapped the hand that wasn’t scrabbling over their erections around John’s back and carefully swapped their places. Now his back was against cold tile. He shivered but he now could lean back with legs spread and thrust against John properly. He took John and himself in hand and stroked.

“Sherlock,” John groaned. He kissed down Sherlock’s neck. When Sherlock groaned John bit down. Sherlock moaned and John sucked a mark there.

Sherlock shuddered. John had marked him. He’d claimed him. He owned him. He found that incredibly arousing. John wanted him as much as he wanted John. He captured John’s lips again.

He found that he was losing his erection due to the cold.

“Fuck,” he said. He was so cold he could be fucking John and he’d still have trouble. He tried to wiggle a little, get a stream of water to warm up a bit and he slipped, just barely catching himself on the edge of the tub.

“This isn’t working,” John said.

“No, it’s not.” Sherlock felt horrible. Now John would think that either there was something wrong with him or that Sherlock wasn’t interested in John enough to keep an erection.

John let go of Sherlock and Sherlock let his hand fall. He had failed.

Thankfully, John didn’t dismiss Sherlock. He traded spots so Sherlock could get some of the warmth and wash his hair. Then they traded and Sherlock took his body wash and washed John’s back. He knelt down and carefully washed John’s legs. He took off the soggy plasters and set them to the side. Scabs had formed so the wounds hadn’t bled much. His hands moved up and he groped John’s arse. John didn’t seem discomforted by the attention so Sherlock thoroughly washed each cheek then between them. He teased John’s hole and found it giving way in no time.

His own cock had filled out now that he wasn’t plastered against cold tile any longer.

Before Sherlock could get too excited John turned around.

Water dripped from his erection and Sherlock leaned forward to lick. John jumped and a stream of water hit Sherlock’s face instead of John’s back.

Sherlock hissed angerly.

John laughed and pulled Sherlock to his feet.

They swapped places, while John scrubbed his back he washed his front. John spent a lot of time cleaning Sherlock arse too. Spreading his cheeks. Washing circles around his hole before washing over it. Tapping on it a few times before circling again. He pushed the tip of his finger in and twisted it. Sherlock was enjoying the sensation and he let John work for a little while longer. When John reached for conditioner for lubricant Sherlock turned around. 

As much as he was looking forward to having shower sex he didn't want conditioner up his arse.

John stood, wincing as he put weight on the leg the cat had really chewed on.

"Alright?" Sherlock asked, holding John in his arms.

"Yes," John said. He swapped their places and washed his hair.

Sherlock wanked him with the shower gel. Long teasing strokes, twisting a bit at the head of his cock.

John rinsed and stroked Sherlock to full hardness.

They tried again, turning so the spray hit both of them but it washed whatever they tried to use as lube down the drain.

"This isn't working. Why isn't this working?" Sherlock growled. 

“I love you,” John said sweetly before giving Sherlock a kiss.

Sherlock tried to push his tongue into John’s mouth, but John wasn’t having any of it. He pulled away and turned off the taps.

“Shower sex doesn’t work,” Sherlock concluded.

“Yeah, it’s not like it is in movies,” John agreed.

“Or porn,” Sherlock said.

John nodded.

Still, Sherlock felt like a failure. They’d been aroused and together and yet neither of them came.

John was clean now. Sherlock needed to make him dirty again.

“Bedroom?” Sherlock offered. He was sure they’d be more successful there.

“Oh, god, yes.”


	6. Rimming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sMUT

John watched as Sherlock spread himself out on the bed. John had seen Sherlock seduce witnesses and suspects many times over the years and the pose Sherlock was in jolted John back to that time. Sherlock smiled at John knowingly.

“Uh,” John said. He wasn’t sure he wanted to do this now. Was Sherlock having him on? Was this all some sort of experiment or test or something?

Sherlock furrowed his brow.

“John?” he asked.

“I… I…” John stammered.

“John?” Sherlock asked again. He raised himself so he was sitting. “Are you alright?”

“I can’t do this,” John said.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. When John didn’t say anything else he tilted his head before making his deduction face.

“Oh!”

John felt his cock stir and mentally chastised himself. Now as not the time!

“You think this is all some experiment,” Sherlock said. Before John could answer he said, “You’re right.”

John as livid.

“If you wanted to do sex-periments you could find someone off the street. You could have told me going into this. You could have not lied to me!”

“Lie? When did I lie to you?” Sherlock looked bewildered.

“You told me you loved me! That you were in love with me!” John shouted. He wanted to say that he was in love with Sherlock and he’d forced a confession. But he held that in. No need to admit his feelings again.

“I am,” Sherlock said, looking John straight in the eye.

Of all the things John thought he’d say he hadn’t been expecting that. He’d expected excuses, lies or even changes of subject, not this.

“What?” John asked, nonplussed.

“I am in love with you,” Sherlock said. He annunciated each word slowly and clearly as though John was being particularly dim-witted.

“Then why?” John wanted to ask why Sherlock was experimenting with him. Why he was playing games with him.

“I have had a lot of fantasies about us over the years, involving a lot of sex of a sort I’ve never had. I thought since you felt the same way about me that I did you that you wouldn’t mind playing them out with me.”

“Oh,” John said. Then what Sherlock said registered. “Oh!”

“Do you mind?” Sherlock asked.

“Not at all,” John said. He didn't mind Sherlock having a lot of strange kinky sex with him. In fact, he'd rather it than with someone else.

He climbed into the bed and kissed Sherlock.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked.

“Well…”

John soon found himself on his knees, resting his body weight on his elbows, face pushed into a pillow.

Sherlock was behind him. He’d licked John to full hardness and after getting him into position he licked and teased John’s balls.

John figured this would end with Sherlock fucking him. He wasn’t opposed to the idea. He’d been with men before and although he personally preferred to top being a bottom was very enjoyable when done right. And he had no doubts that Sherlock would do him right.

Sherlock pulled John’s arse cheeks apart and John shifted. _Here we go,_ John thought. Sherlock would reach over to the bedside table grab the lube and start working him open…

And then Sherlock’s nose moved up and something moist moved over his hole.

“JESUS CHRIST!” John shouted and he fell forward, away from the sensation.

“John?” Sherlock asked.

John just panted. Sherlock had just licked his arsehole!

“Not good?” Sherlock asked.

“No!” Then John stopped to think. Actually, it had been very good. Just surprising was all. “No, I just wasn’t expecting that.”

John had never experienced rimming. Either as the rimmer or the rimmee.

Slowly he raised back up, sticking his arse at Sherlock. He was embarrassed. This wasn’t something he should want. But just the one lick had felt so good!

With his large hands Sherlock could hold John’s cheeks apart and keep his hips in place.

John felt a puff of warm air and Sherlock’s nose on his arse before the tongue came back.

“Christ! Ah!” John tried to buck forward.

Before he was even recovered the tongue was back. This time it circled his hole.

“Fuck!” John shouted. 

“Is it good?” Sherlock asked before licking John’s perineum.

“Yes,” John said. “Very—AH!—good.”

Sherlock kissed John’s hole once, twice, three times before there was pressure. Sherlock was pushing his tongue in, trying breach John’s body.

John’s legs were shaking, his breathing was laboured. He felt like he might explode. God, he needed something to thrust into. He reached underneath himself, grasping for his cock, wanting to get off with Sherlock’s tongue in his arse.

Sherlock breached him and John yelled into the pillow. He bit into it, wanting to keep quiet for Mrs Hudson’s sake below them.

John writhed as Sherlock licked, sucked and speared him.

He grabbed hold of his prick and started pulling.

“Nnngh,” Sherlock said, tongue deep in John’s arse. He swatted John’s hand away.

John keened a wordless complaint but kept his hand off his cock.

Sherlock started sucking every time he thrust his tongue forward, forcing John’s hips back to take him deeper.

“Sher—! Sher—! Sherl—aah!” John was fairly certain he’d never been this hard. His pants had turned into pleas. “Sherlllllock…”

“Want a finger?” Sherlock asked, resting his cheek against John’s arse.

“Cock, I want your cock,” John said. He needed something more than a finger. Though he was pretty sure he’d come as soon as Sherlock entered him.

The tongue was back and Sherlock hummed thoughtfully.

John shivered at the sensation. Sherlock noticed and hummed again and again.

“Please,” John begged. “Please, Sherl-augh!”

Sherlock’s teeth scraped against John’s hole.

_Dangerous_.

Suddenly, Sherlock was gone.

John turned, hoping that Sherlock had just gone to get lube but Sherlock was sitting back on his heels. Cheeks pink, eyes side and bright.

“My turn,” he announced. His hard prick was shiny from precome.

“Wha?” John asked. There wasn’t much blood left in his brain and he was having trouble thinking.

Sherlock raised up onto his knees, turned around and knelt, presenting his arse to John.

“Oh, right,” John said and leaned forward.

He touched Sherlock’s plush arse cautiously. He’d eaten out women before but he’d never gone _there_ before.

Sherlock backed up and wiggled his arse.

John snorted and giggled at his antics.

“Alright, alright,” John said. He knelt and pulled apart Sherlock’s arse cheeks. The dark furled hole had a few hairs around it.

In other words, it looked like an arsehole and John was not at all interested in eating it.

“John?” Sherlock asked. But he wasn’t demanding or impatient, he sounded worried.

John remembered how it felt when Sherlock did it for him and he wanted Sherlock to feel that. To experience it. And if John didn’t do it Sherlock wouldn’t. Because John was never letting Sherlock go now that he _finally_ had him.

_Alright, let’s do this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, I have plans for Sherlock's arse.


	7. Bottom Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penetrative Sex

Sherlock could tell John was hesitant. He didn’t want to make John feel like he had to do anything he felt uncomfortable about.

Yes, he was curious and yes, he wanted to sate that curiosity but he could just have John write an essay after. They’d repeat this a few times until Sherlock was satisfied he had all the information. It wasn’t like it was a hardship.

He wiggled back, trying to get his legs under him so he could kneel up and talk face to face about what to do next when he heard John’s giggle.

“Alright, alright,” John said, sounding fond.

“John?” Sherlock asked. What was he doing back there?

A moist tongue licked up his crack from perineum to tailbone.

Sherlock shrieked. Oh, that was interesting.

John did it again, more confidently. Without pausing John circled his hole with his tongue.

“Nnguh,” Sherlock groaned into his pillow. No matter how many essays John wrote he never would have understood.

The tongue disappeared and Sherlock leaned back, chasing it.

John chuckled and placed his hands on Sherlock’s hips.

Sherlock felt John’s warm breath over his hole. It lapped at it before circling again. Sherlock realized he was groaning and drooling into the pillow.

Then John pushed in with his tongue.

“Aaah—! John!” Sherlock squirmed, fighting with himself. He wanted to push back, to push John further in. But he remembered John’s movements when he was doing this and he really didn’t want to break John’s nose.

Sherlock could feel John’s tongue poke and prod him but now that he was over the shock of it he wanted more.

“Finger me,” Sherlock demanded.

“Need lube,” John said.

“Table,” Sherlock said.

He heard John rummaging around before feeling a slick finger slide inside.

Sherlock groaned. Oh, that felt good.

“You’re loose,” John noted.

“You had your tongue up there, of course, a finger fits,” Sherlock said with a snorting giggle.

John giggled too. He moved his finger around and Sherlock felt something strike his core.

“Aarugh!”

“Sorry,” John said. “Too rough, how’s this?”

Sherlock felt John rub his prostate.

“Too much,” Sherlock said, biting back a whimper. “Is this how you do exams on your patients?”

“Sorry,” John said again.

In that one word Sherlock could read the answer, yes John always moved like that on prostate exams. Sherlock felt sorry for John’s patients.

Sherlock felt a pleasant zing down his spine. He arched his back and groaned. Oh, that was nice.

“Yeah?” John asked as he did it again.

“Yessssss,” Sherlock groaned. His testicles felt full and he could feel himself drip precome onto the bedsheets.

Sherlock felt the sting when John added another finger. John scissored and stretched and Sherlock shivered expectantly.

“Condoms?” John asked.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder and saw John licking his lips, hard prick sticking up, John stroking it slowly.

Condoms… Sherlock had some but he wasn’t sure they were within expiry date.

“Check the drawer,” Sherlock said.

John turned and came back with a foil packet. He was having trouble opening it.

Sherlock reached his hand back. He glanced at the date on the packet and realized he had no idea what the date was.

“What’s the date?” Sherlock asked.

“December seventh?” John said, curling the end of the sentence into a question, showing he wasn’t quite sure.

“It’s December?” Sherlock asked, alarmed.

“Yeah,” John said, smile evident in his voice.

Well, that was a problem. Sherlock would need to get John a Christmas gift. They’d gone shopping together before, and to Sherlock’s horror, he realized he’d be dragged along this year too. Getting gifts for Mrs Hudson and Harry and—shudder—Mycroft.

What if John wanted to see Mummy for Christmas? Sherlock wasn’t sure he could live through that again.

Sherlock shook himself from his thoughts quickly enough John didn’t notice. He raised up to his knees and tore open the packet.

He turned to John to hand it back and paused at the expression on John’s face.

John was the most expressive man Sherlock had ever met. Sherlock never could read him properly because he had so many emotions at the same time and they all showed on his face. So he could be happy/sad (whenever Sherlock said he had a case and John was with Mary), angry/disappointed/frightened (that time Sherlock didn’t warn him he was keeping poisonous spiders in the medicine cabinet), happy/livid/disbelieving/hurt (when Sherlock had returned from the dead).

Sherlock had figured all those emotions out long after, while he was replaying the incidents in his mind palace. Cataloguing each expression for future reference.

Right now, John was fond/horny and something else Sherlock had never been able to place. It must be loving.

John had been showing that expression every time he saw Sherlock from the very beginning.

“Oh,” Sherlock gasped.

John took Sherlock’s face in his hand and Sherlock nuzzled into the contact. He opened his eyes in time to close them for a kiss.

“I want to see you,” John said.

Sherlock wanted that too.

They manoeuvred around on the bed so Sherlock was on his back with John, condom on, ready between his legs.

“Is this alright?” John asked.

Sherlock hummed a yes against John’s lips.

John was shaking as he lined himself up and Sherlock pulled John close.

“What’s wrong,” he whispered into John’s ear.

“I just can’t believe this is happening. It doesn’t seem real,” John said.

“I feel the same,” Sherlock said. It was long overdue, their getting together. He captured John’s lips and kissed him slowly. Working John’s mouth open and tangling his tongue with his.

“Now, John Watson,” Sherlock looked into John’s deep blue eyes, “fuck me, slowly.”

John threw his head back and groaned. He reached between them and Sherlock felt pressure at his hole.

The pressure increased and Sherlock gasped when John’s cockhead slid in. There was plenty of lube and Sherlock was used to the stretch-burn of being breached.

“Alright?” John asked. He was gritting his teeth. Sherlock could see it was a collocal effort to stay still.

“If you ask me that one more time I’ll throw you off this bed,” Sherlock growled. “Now, thrust!”

John slid all the way in and Sherlock sighed. John was perfect. He slid out a bit and his cock dragged along Sherlock’s prostate.

“God, John,” Sherlock moaned. He reached up and pulled John down for a kiss.

As John moved in, out, in, out, each slow drag sent shivers down Sherlock’s spine. John’s stomach rubbed against Sherlock’s cock, the space between them already moist with Sherlock’s pre-come and sweat.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” John chanted as he thrust.

Sherlock angled his hips and started thrusting against John. Each _“I love you”_ was etched into Sherlock’s skin. He kissed up and down John’s neck, licking the sweat from his skin, biting little marks of his own on John’s body. The ones he’d left before were still vibrant.

“Sher-lock,” John complained, his name coming out in pants.

“What?” Sherlock asked with a smile before biting along the top of John’s shoulder. “They’re love bites, John. Proof that I love you.”

John snorted, the poof of air cold against Sherlock’s sweaty skin.

“God, you feel good,” John said, pushing deep inside.

Sherlock could feel his testicles bump into his own.

The water-based lubricant was starting to get sticky and Sherlock felt John’s movements drag. This couldn’t go on much longer without risking getting sore.

“You should come,” Sherlock said, whispering the words into John’s ear. “Come in me, John.”

John keened a high pitched nasally sound.

“You want to do this again? Bend me over the kitchen table? Spread my legs? Make me beg for your huge cock before ramming into me and fucking me so hard the table eventually hits the wall?”

John made a more desperate sound and started thrusting faster.

“I’ll have to hide lube all over the house,” Sherlock purred, imagining it himself.

“You’re too coherent,” John accused.

He rose to his knees and put Sherlock’s legs over his shoulder. Then he bent Sherlock in half and started thrusting hard.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Sherlock gasped as John’s thrusts propelled him up the bed until his head hit the headboard.

Sherlock had never been in this position. John was deep, his hips snapped against Sherlock. Sherlock looked up and saw fire in John’s eyes. It made his toes tingle.

“Oooooohhhh,” Sherlock groaned.

“What—ah—do you—ah—think now?” John asked.

Sherlock wasn’t sure he had ever had a thought ever. His whole body was alight. All his nerve endings sang. It was better than the drugs.

There was a rough hand on his cock and Sherlock opened his eyes to see John’s tongue poking out from between his lips. His eyes were filled with fire.

“Come, Sherlock,” John ordered.

As he said the words one of Sherlock’s legs fell to the side and John hit Sherlock’s prostate head on.

Sherlock’s head flew back and his mouth opened, though no sound came out. He came and came and came, distantly hearing John curse above him.

Then John was gone.

Sherlock found him laying on his side, staring at Sherlock with a dopey smile on his face.

“What?” Sherlock scowled at him.

“You’re beautiful,” John said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “No need for that, John. I’m not one of your women that needs constant compliments.”

John frowned and looked sad. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“I know I’m not traditionally attractive though quite a lot of my ‘fan base’ as you put it finds me bed-able.

John laughed. “Bed-able, huh?”

Sherlock wasn’t sure he could stand teasing at this point, no matter how well-meaning John was. He considered getting up to get a flannel and wash off some of the obscene amount of semen from his chest and stomach but decided his legs were too weak and shaky to do so.

John didn’t tease him though. He just gave Sherlock the smile he did when he felt sad about Sherlock’s past and kissed him on the forehead.

Sherlock smiled and kissed John. When he leaned back to look into his lover’s eyes he realized that he hadn’t got to watch John’s orgasm face.

“John! We have to go again!” he demanded he had to compare it to the face John made when he when coming in his pants after a case.

John swatted him away. “You’ve killed me, Sherlock. Sucked all the energy right out of me. Succubus,” he accused.

“I need this. Next time we’ll film it so I can—”

“No! Let me stop you right there. I’m not making a sex tape with you.”

Sherlock scowled.

John kissed the tip of his nose causing him to scowl further.

“Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?”

Sherlock spread himself out over the sheets. “Too tired.”

“You didn’t even do anything,” John said, smiling.

“Mmm, but that was the best sex of my life and I want to bask in the afterglow.”

“Bask my arse you lazy sod. I’ll let it go because you’re a flatterer,” John stood.

“Nothing but the truth,” Sherlock said. He was feeling a little hurt that John didn’t believe him.

“Really?” John asked brightly.

“Really,” Sherlock said. “You’re a good fuck, John Watson.”

John laughed and went to get a flannel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten points to you if you saw the pun.


	8. Frottage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time. Sorry. Hopefully it's still good.

The next morning John woke up with Sherlock kissing his neck.

“Hmm,” he hummed happily. “Good morning.”

“Is it?” Sherlock asked between kisses.

"Yes, I think so."

John felt something hard poking his rear.

“Really?” he asked.

John felt teeth scrape the back of his neck. He pried the Sherloctopus off him long enough to go to the loo and brush his teeth. He hurried back and captured Sherlock’s mouth, licking inside and groaning.

Sherlock wrapped his limbs around John and ground his erection against John until they were both hard.

John reached down and took Sherlock in hand. Neither of them had put on pyjamas last night. He rubbed his thumb over the head of Sherlock’s cock, smearing precome around and teasing him.

“Yes,” Sherlock groaned. “Like that.”

“Like this?” John asked, repeating the motion with his thumb.

“Yes.” Sherlock arched his back. “Oh, yes.”

John smiled, watching Sherlock twitch and writhe on the bed.

“So sensitive,” John said. His prostate was sensitive and he got so much pleasure from John’s hand.

Sherlock opened his eyes and John marvelled at him. Pale skin with a pink flush slightly glistening with sweat, eyes large and dark, his white teeth biting into his plush red lip. Dark curls hallowed his head, frizzy and tousled. 

He was a vision.

“You’re beautiful,” John gasped.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John. “Why do you keep saying that?” he asked.

“Because it’s true,” John said, confused. They’d had this discussion last night.

“You really believe that, don’t you?”

John still didn’t understand.

“Of course, I do.”

Sherlock smiled softly.

“I love you, John,” he said.

John smiled back at him and then was tackled and pushed onto his back. He looked up just in time to turn his head for a messy kiss. John allowed Sherlock to take control. He was swept up in Sherlock’s passion. Sherlock kissed and nibbled and stroked and groped and John just tried to hold on for the ride.

He arched his back while Sherlock nibbled on his nipple.

He threw his head back when Sherlock lubed up his hand and stroked their erections together.

Sherlock worked them in his hand before grabbing more lube. John felt a finger prodding at his arse. He tried to relax but Sherlock was just circling.

John was overcome with all the different sensations and Sherlock slipped his finger in. John thrust forward, brushing his cock against Sherlock’s and when he arched back he shoved Sherlock’s finger deeper.

Sherlock’s brow furrowed in concentration and he looked up at John, meeting his eyes.

Sparks flew across John’s vision.

“Sherlock!” he shouted. He was close, too close.

Sherlock looked smug and slipped his finger out. He loosened his grip and just let their cocks glide together. He held John’s hips in place and John writhed. Sherlock controlled everything. He was completely at his mercy.

And John loved it.

He closed his eyes and focused on the sensation.

The zing down his spine when Sherlock licked then blew cold air over his nipple. The heat the pooled in his abdomen when Sherlock bit it. The sharp sting of his teeth biting down on his lip. The tension in his shoulders when Sherlock’s finger poked and prodded his hole. The slick chilly crawl of lube as it dripped from his hole. Then the burning stretch of another finger sliding in against the first. The light behind his eyes as Sherlock slowly stroked his prostate. Sherlock’s hot hard prick sliding along his own. Speeding, faster and faster. A drip of sweat on his face. Looking up to see Sherlock absolutely wrecked above him. His face twisted in pleasure, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead as his hips snapped against John’s.

John took both their erections in hand and stroked. He set a brutal pace and came not a minute later.

His shout made his ears ring and he felt Sherlock’s prick stiffen against his own and the splatter of warms semen puddling with his own.

When Sherlock’s hips finally stilled John kissed him. A peck, a small nibble of that perfect cupid’s bow softened with a lick.

“John,” Sherlock said, something clearly on his mind.

“Sherlock?”

“I am absolutely positive Mrs Hudson heard us.”

John felt his face heat but couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. Sherlock started chuckling and soon they were both laughing, heads pressed against each other, finally stopping with a kiss.


	9. Sexting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and smutty

Sherlock hovered as John dressed for work. When John pulled on a turtleneck he argued and when he lost he pouted. Of course, he understood that as a doctor showing up to work with a throat covered in marks was unprofessional. He just didn’t want John to go to work in the first place.

It’s not like John needed to go to work. Sherlock had plenty of money for both of them. He’d given John a bank card during the Blind Banker, as John had dubbed it, case and never asked for it back. He hadn’t used it after the fall, though Sherlock was sure Mycroft had set everything up so he could.

He wanted back to those early days when it was just the two of them against the world. Sherlock was happy they were having sex but their relationship had broken when he jumped and it had never been the same.

John grumbled something about being late and accused Sherlock and the sex for it. Sherlock watched from the window as his John left the flat and walked down the street.

Sherlock sawed at his violin for a few hours and shouted at the idiots on the telly for a few more. Then he got really bored.

He decided it was the perfect time to do something he’d always wanted to do: sexting.

**Bored. -SH**

He thought it was better to start out not like he was attempting to get John riled up and (hopefully) fired.

Sherlock waited twelve minutes before breaking down and sending a second.

**Horny. -SH**

This time John responded.

**Christ, Sherlock. Already?**

**Thinking of bending you over the table. -SH**

**You’d have to clean it first.**

Clever, John.

**You’ve always wanted to have me in my chair. -SH**

**I’m at work.**

**I’ll start a fire. We can sit together. -SH**

**Working.**

**I can crawl between your legs. -SH**

**Sherlock.**

**Take you in my mouth. -SH**

**Sherlock!**

**No fabric between. -SH**

**I’m at work!**

He was, and he was waiting anxiously for every text. Sherlock smiled wickedly.

**I’ll start slow. Little licks up and down the shaft. Teasing the head out. -SH**

**God.**

**Did you know I don’t have a gag reflex? -SH**

Little dots appeared and disappeared rapidly on the screen.

**I could take you down to the root. You could feel the muscles of my throat contract as I swallow. -SH**

**Fuck**

**Can you imagine it? Looking down at me, seeing my cheeks hollowed and my mouth red around your cock? -SH**

**Yes.**

**Can you feel my tongue worry that little spot on your cock that’s most sensitive? -SH**

**Yeah.**

**Are you touching yourself? -SH**

Sherlock didn’t wait for a response before truthfully adding.

**I’m touching myself. -SH**

**I’m at work.**

**I’m sitting in my chair. My flies are undone and I’m working my hand up and down. -SH**

**Sherlock! I’m! At! Work!**

**I could come down there. You can do paperwork while I hide under your desk. -SH**

Again dots appeared and disappeared.

**I’m touching myself. Imagining it’s your mouth instead of my hand. -SH**

Dots… Dots…Dots… Then nothing.

**Seeing your big blue eyes meet mine as you look up and see how much I’m enjoying your mouth. -SH**

**Yeah?**

**I have dreams about your mouth. -SH**

**I have dreams about yours too.**

**And my hands, I’ve seen you stare at them. Do you like when I rub your prostate? -SH**

There was no response so Sherlock sent another.

**Can I rub your prostate while I suck you? -SH**

**I want to taste your come. -SH**

Sherlock imagined John, sitting on the edge of his chair, legs spread, Sherlock’s fingers up his arse and his face buried in John’s dark pubic hair. Mouth filled with that huge cock. John’s come voluminous after so much prostate stimulation. Sherlock could keep him on edge for hours. Teasing him with his hands and tongue until he begged to come. Then swallowing everything. Having John’s taste on his tongue.

**I’m close. -SH**

**Wait! I’m on my way home.**

**Hurry. -SH**


	10. Blow Jobs

John came in, rushing up the stairs to find the door to their flat closed and locked. He dug through his pockets to find his keys, simultaneously annoyed and thankful. He hadn’t seen Mrs Hudson since the couch incident and he really didn’t want her walking in on them in flagrante delicto—though it wouldn’t be the worst thing she’d caught them at.

His work had been annoyed that he’d left before his shift ended, he really needed to be careful. He didn’t work for Sarah anymore. She’d let him go whenever he pleased because she liked him (and didn’t want Sherlock or criminals showing up at the surgery). However, he worked for someone else now and he was told point blank that he couldn’t leave again without notice. John wondered if he should have stayed but he’d already told them he had an emergency and he couldn’t very well be like, _“oh, never mind then, it’s not that important.”_

“John?” a deep voice called from within the flat.

“I can’t find my bloody key,” John said. He barely recognized Sherlock’s voice. It was rough, husky and much deeper than normal.

It made John shiver.

The door swung open and there was Sherlock, button-down shirt wrinkled, trousers and pants shoved halfway down his thighs.

John might have laughed if the sight of Sherlock so dishevelled holding his hard leaking cock wasn’t so bloody hot.

Sherlock shuffled back across the room and his little penguin walk finally broke John. He started laughing causing Sherlock to look back and glare.

“I can finish myself, you know,” he said darkly.

“No need for that,” John said. “Go sit down, I’ll give you a hand.”

“You’d better give me your mouth after laughing like that.”

“Greedy,” John chastised, though he had a point.

Sherlock sat down in his chair and kicked off his trousers and pants. He spread his legs wide and John smiled as he knelt between them. He stroked Sherlock’s thighs, the hair tickling his hands, and felt Sherlock tense when John leaned forward, breathing on his cock.

“Condom?” John asked. He wasn’t sure whether they needed one or not but it was always better to be safe than sorry.

“I’m clean, tested regularly. You haven’t been tested since Mary and we know she was unfaithful.”

John felt his chest freeze. Sherlock wasn’t wrong. He thought about it, once, but dismissed it as something to do later. It wasn’t like he was going to be looking for romantic companionship after that whole mess, and any one night stands always used condoms.

He was an idiot for ignoring his health.

“I’m sure you’re fine and I’m not opposed to going without today—assuming we don’t have penetrative sex, that is.”

“Little optimistic, don’t you think? How many times do you think you can orgasm?”

At that question, Sherlock’s eyes lit up and John realized that sometime soon he’d be experiment fodder. This was one experiment he didn’t mind participating in.

He took Sherlock’s cock in his hand and wrapped his mouth around the head. He groaned, Sherlock had been using strawberry flavoured lubricant and it was surprisingly delicious.

“You planned this,” John accused.

Sherlock gave him the look Sherlock had whenever something was obvious.

“I shouldn’t reward this behaviour,” John said and though it was true he was going to do it anyway.

He took Sherlock’s cock back into his mouth and worked his way down until his lips were touching his hands. He twirled his tongue around Sherlock’s cock, licking away all the lube and teasing Sherlock’s skin and precome. John took Sherlock’s bollox in hand and massaged them gently.

Sherlock groaned and John felt his fingers card through his hair. Sherlock didn’t push his head down just flexed his fingers and stroked.

John started working his hand counter to his mouth as he bobbed up and down. Sherlock was vocal, moaning, groaning and calling John’s name.

Hollowing his cheeks John looked up at Sherlock causing him to swear. John rubbed the spot just under the glans with his tongue as he bobbed and felt Sherlock’s testicles tighten.

“John!” Sherlock warned, tapping the top of John’s head as if he’d missed the signs.

John didn’t pull up, just doubled his efforts and suddenly his mouth was flooded. Come dribbled down his chin and the amount of it nearly choked him but he swallowed as much as he could.

“Fuck,” he heard, whispered above him and he looked up to see Sherlock looking down at him like he was the sun.

He used the back of his hand to wipe the come from his chin and licked what he could off his lips.

Sherlock dropped to his knees, took John’s face in his hands and kissed him, licking into his mouth and pushing and pawing at John until John was on his back.

His hands went to his flies and in no time he had John’s hard cock out. He dove for it, taking it deep into his mouth causing John to swear.

Well, Sherlock was right, he didn’t have a gag reflex.

Sherlock pulled off, taking John in hand and working him.

“Don’t take your eyes off me,” Sherlock said as if John wouldn’t have done so anyway.

He licked up John’s cock, dragging his pink tongue up the bottom before swirling it around the head. Then he stretched his mouth around John’s cock, looking John in the eye as he bobbed up, down, up, down before hollowing his cheeks and sucking.

John’s eyes rolled back. God, he was already close.

That earned him a sharp slap to his thigh and he looked down to see Sherlock’s lips glossy and rubbed red slipping up and down along his shaft.

Assured Sherlock had his attention he sank down until his nose was tickling John’s pubic hair.

John sat up on his elbows to watch.

Sherlock hummed happily and the vibrations on John’s cock made him shiver.

A couple more minutes of Sherlock’s attention and John was warning him.

Sherlock pulled off at the last minute with a frown. He worked John through his orgasm with his hand.

“Get checked,” Sherlock ordered. “I have an experiment I want to run on diet’s effect on semen’s taste.”

“Will do,” John said happily.

John suddenly remembered the text message. "You said you'd get me off with your fingers up my arse," he reminded him.

"Next time, John. I didn't think you'd want strawberry lube up there. Though we'll have to try that sometime too. I quite enjoyed rimming. I'll add it to the list."

"You have a list?" John asked.

"Of course," Sherlock said, as if not having a list was crazy. "Eat something. I'd like to have sex tonight too."

John's eyes went wide. "Just how many things are on this list that we have to go again so soon?"

Sherlock just smiled in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's so fired. lol


	11. Intercrural

Sherlock waited until John had a sandwich and some tea in him before cuddling up to him. He pawed at John until the wretched turtleneck was on the floor. Sherlock kicked it under the chair. He’d dispose of it later.

John chuckled at Sherlock’s antics before groaning. Sherlock had found a sensitive spot on John’s shoulder, right above his scar. After sucking a mark there Sherlock examined the skin thoroughly. John had multiple surgeries to try to repair the damage. He knew it still hurt John, that it got locked up when there was bad weather and it would ache for days if he landed on it.

Gently pressing his lips to the scar Sherlock thanked every deity he didn’t believe in that John hadn’t died that day.

“It got infected,” John said.

Sherlock looked at him, curious.

“MERSA, they said. I don’t know how I survived.”

“I’m glad you did,” Sherlock said. He wanted to ask John all sorts of questions and he might have if he were still the same man he was when they first met. Now, he knew better. John didn’t want to talk about that time, about his discharge and Sherlock wasn’t going to force it.

He decided to change the subject. He kissed across John’s chest, noting every scar and freckle in his mind palace.

John hadn’t had time to shave so when Sherlock moved on to kissing his jawline and lips he got beard burn. He decided that as sexy John was with facial hair it wasn’t worth it. Still, he catalogued the feel, the rough scraping against his sensitive lips, the scratch against his cheeks. He distantly thought that maybe, had John had a beard when they’d first met, his feelings would differ.

Sherlock looked into John’s eyes, memorizing each different hue that made up the iris before turning his attention to John’s eyelashes. They were long, blond, the tips nearly white, and when Sherlock caught John’s mouth in a kiss they brushed against his cheek.

“I can’t go again,” John said when Sherlock pulled back for a breath.

“Hmm,” Sherlock hummed. He groped John but found it fruitless. Which was unfortunate because he could feel himself stirring.

Sherlock felt as John’s hand slid down. John chuckled when he found Sherlock half hard.

“Really?” he laughed.

“Well, we’re not all old men,” Sherlock said, haughtily.

“I’ll show you old man,” John growled.

He tackled Sherlock to the ground and they mock wrestled, neither gaining the upper hand until a knock sounded at the door.

“Boys?” Mrs Hudson called. “You have a client.”

Client! Sherlock popped up and ran to their room to get some clothing on. John ran into Sherlock’s room too. Sherlock looked at him, brow furrowed in confusion.

“I have to go out there to get more clothes,” John hissed. “I can’t find my shirt.”

Sherlock laughed. “I’ll see what the client wants, you can see if you can find something in here that fits.” Sherlock knew he had something because he was guilty of stealing John’s clothing and stashing it in his room. Usually, it was for experiments but sometimes John threw clothes away that just needed some mending and Sherlock was happy to send it away with his laundry.

John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, he possibly guessed Sherlock had been stealing his things, but he didn’t say anything.

Sherlock strode out into the living room and interrogated the client. It was a boring case, the spouse was having an affair, and although there might have been some features of interest, there was a little something there about with whom she was cheating, Sherlock didn’t care. He had something better to occupy his attention.

Like that half-naked ex-army doctor in his room.

He shooed the boring man from the flat and went to the bedroom. He locked the door behind him and turned to see the door to the bedroom closed.

Sherlock stalked back there and threw open the door.

What he saw made him freeze.

John was completely naked. He had his arse pointed to the door and was on his knees and forearms. The skin between his thighs glistened.

“Wha?” Sherlock gaped.

“I know you’re ready to go again and I don’t want you to have to wait,” John said, talking to Sherlock over his shoulder.

Sherlock frowned. “I don’t want to give sex with you if you’re not going to come. Wouldn’t that hurt?”

John smirked. “I don’t particularly want you up my arse right now. I’m talking about intercrural.”

“What’s that?” He hadn’t seen anything about it during all of his research on sex.

“Come here,” John said.

Sherlock took off his clothes and knelt behind John, running his hand up and down John’s spine.

“Now what?”

John manoeuvred around until his legs were crossed.

“Fuck my thighs,” John said.

Sherlock frowned. “Is that supposed to be pleasurable?”

John chuckled. “Just try it,” he said.

Sherlock had to spread his legs wide so he wasn’t too tall. He had trouble thrusting and he kept slipping out of the slick channel of John’s thighs.

“This isn’t working!” Sherlock snapped when he slid out and nearly slid into John’s hole.

“Here,” John said and he nudged Sherlock until he was standing at the edge of the bed.

As Sherlock watched John scooted so his knees were on the edge of the bed.

“Try now,” he said.

Sherlock walked up and spread his legs. He didn’t have to spread so far in this position and he groaned as he sunk between John’s thighs.

He could feel whenever John tightened his legs and his cock nudged John’s bollox.

“Take my hips,” John said.

Sherlock did and he could thrust harder and faster.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” John chanted as Sherlock fucked him.

Sherlock watched John’s back ripple with every movement. The way his head fell and his hips rolled.

Every little grunt and groan made Sherlock thrust harder. He could tell when people were faking enjoyment of sex. It made watching porn difficult. John’s moans weren’t fake. He wasn’t hard but he was enjoying this.

Sherlock gripped John’s hips tighter. He felt warm, his hands slid with the sweat from both his and John’s bodies. He dug his nails in.

It was difficult to come while he was standing up and he was losing his rhythm.

John started moving, thrusting with him.

“Come, Sherlock,” John said. “Come on me.”

It tipped Sherlock over the edge. He pulled out and stroked himself, the come splattering over John’s back. Sherlock groaned. John tried to move but Sherlock held him in place. He marked the picture in his mind, storing it in three different places in his mind palace so it was never forgotten.


	12. Public Hand Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know I’m late. I went out to dinner then saw Bohemian Rhapsody. It was good. :)

John started the shower. Sherlock had wiped him with a wet flannel but he didn’t seem to have done a proper job because John still felt itchy. Sherlock seemed to be a little put out that John wasn’t hard but John wished he wouldn’t be. Just because he didn’t come didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy himself. It made him happy to get Sherlock off.

Honestly, he was a little surprised he was allowed to have sex with Sherlock. He’d always thought he didn’t have a chance. If Sherlock wanted to experiment sexually with him he was more than willing to participate.

John looked down at Sherlock, who was in the middle of a nap, and smiled. They might have gone the long way round but they ended up in the right place.

He stole one of Sherlock’s poncy fluffy towels from his room and tried to shower quickly, he didn’t want to use more water than he needed. He had a feeling that Sherlock would have him in the shower again before the night was out.

Sherlock was still asleep when John came out of the shower so he decided to get the shopping done. If he could manage to escape without a list from Sherlock he could usually get what they actually needed instead of forgetting everything they needed to eat in favour for stuff that Sherlock would use to blow up the toaster.

John was in line with his shopping at the Asda when his boss called out his name. He tried to be vague about the nature of his emergency and still have an explanation for why he was doing shopping. She told him to come in early, _"to d_ _o up some paperwork,”_ and John internally groaned.

He was in a dour mood when he came home. Sherlock was still asleep so he put the shopping away and did some tidying up though that was half-hearted at best. He really felt that the eels were Sherlock’s problem and Mrs Hudson had been up recently to hoover.

There was a thud from the bedroom, then another, then another, then the door was thrown open.

Sherlock emerged, looking delightfully rumpled. He yawned and mussed his curls. He didn’t say anything, just turned on the kettle.

“I think I’m fired,” John said.

Sherlock just nodded as if he expected so.

“Sherlock,” John said, irritated. He wanted a response, either an apology for being the cause or some commiseration.

“OH!” Sherlock gasped. “OH!”

John rolled his eyes. It wasn’t exactly a huge deduction, John had told him so.

“John! We have to go!”

“Go where?” John didn’t think going anywhere was going to get him un-fired.

“Case!” Sherlock shouted as he ran down the stairs.

John clicked off the kettle before following.

\----

This was the part of the case that John hated. They had to wait for someone to do something or go somewhere before Sherlock had the last bit of evidence he needed. And this usually resulted in Sherlock and him tucked up in some dark alley next to a rank skip.

His legs ached but he didn’t want to get filth on them so he didn’t want to sit. They were four days into the case and John was exhausted.

And sexually frustrated. Apparently, Sherlock didn’t eat on cases and neither did he have sex. Though, the last one, at least, was probably accurate.

The man Sherlock turned away in order to have sex was actually an embezzler and his cheating wife knew about this and so she’d gotten a cat and John really didn’t follow the rest. Sherlock wouldn’t explain everything properly until the case was over.

John huffed and shifted his legs.

“John,” Sherlock whispered, “keep still.”

“I can’t,” John hissed back.

“Sit down then,” Sherlock whispered.

“I don’t want to ruin these trousers.”

That got Sherlock’s attention. He tilted his head and looked at John.

“Lestrade’s coming soon to relieve us, right?” John whispered. He really wanted to go to bed.

Sherlock didn’t answer he just came over to John. He reached down and stroked John through his trousers.

“Fuck,” John whispered, his legs shook.

They shook again when Sherlock caught his lips in a kiss and he nearly whimpered when Sherlock whispered in his ear to keep watch. John turned his eyes to the house they were supposed to be watching and felt Sherlock pawing at his trousers.

John gasped when cold air hit his cock.

“Watch the house,” Sherlock reminded him.

John was trying but Sherlock had licked his palm and was stroking John to full hardness. Once John was hard in Sherlock’s hand Sherlock turned to look at the house, keeping a slow rhythm over John’s cock.

After a minute of this John tried to thrust but all that earned him was the hand disappearing.

When John still his hips the hand came back, Sherlock had licked it in the meantime.

John shuddered and gave up all pretence of watching the house. He just enjoyed Sherlock’s hand, which had started twisting in a delightful way.

Sherlock’s hand was large on his prick. John knew he wasn’t small but he looked that way when Sherlock worked him. In the light from the moon, Sherlock’s skin was ghostly pale. But the palm was warm, a welcome shelter from the chill in the air.

“Are you watching?” Sherlock whispered in his ear.

“Yeah,” John said. It wasn’t a lie, he was watching Sherlock’s hand carefully.

Sherlock took his hand away and John thought it was punishment but it was just so Sherlock could lick it again.

This time, when Sherlock took John in hand he set a faster pace. He worked faster and faster until John was thrusting into the moist heat of Sherlock’s hands. He could feel the bony joints against his prick and it was delightful.

The worry that they’d be caught by some passerby excited John. The fact that they might get caught by Lestrade lit up that part of his mind that loved danger.

John could feel his orgasm building. He chased it, resting his back on the brick of a building so he could thrust better. Sherlock started twisting his hand and it lit a fire in John’s cock. Pressure built in his testicles and he muffled his shout with his arm as he came.

Sherlock worked him through it and when John hissed with oversensitivity Sherlock wiped his hand on John’s trousers.

“There,” he whispered. “Now your trousers are dirty and you can sit down.”

John snorted. Though he found no argument and was happy to sit and take a nap while Sherlock watched what was obviously a deserted house.


	13. Top Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suprise!

Christmas was miserable, Sherlock decided. He had come to this conclusion before, many times. There were more people out and Christmas music was on all the time and murders seemed to cease. Sherlock didn’t understand it, whenever he had to spend the holidays with his family he frequently contemplated murder.

He was braving the crowds today, putting up with the lights and sounds and people to find a Christmas present for John. He had been thinking of an antique doctor’s bag but after John losing his job—and it being partially Sherlock’s fault (though not really)—Sherlock rather thought it might be a bad idea. Everything he thought of while he was in the flat he’d discarded. He thought that maybe, if he went out, he’d stumble across something.

And he did.

It was a simple thing, really. He wanted to show John he treasured him, loved him, thought about him, hated being apart from him.

Sherlock wanted to marry him.

But was it too soon? Would it remind John of Mary, bring back the heartache of losing little Rosie? Would John want to propose? What if he didn’t feel the same way?

Sherlock shook his head, that was nonsense. He knew John felt the same. And perhaps he was moving too fast but he didn’t really care. He’d waited far too long already.

The bands were simple white gold and he had the date they met 29-1-2010 engraved on the inside. He thought maybe there was some clever line or something he should include but he hadn’t realized just how much he loved John until he was away and by then he was too late. He wasn’t going to include anything about second chances on the ring, though he was grateful for them.

He came home feeling much happier and more festive than when he left. Since John was off being fired Sherlock enlisted Mrs Hudson’s help in decorating the flat. He’d even hung mistletoe.

John was pleasantly confused when he came home. Sherlock didn’t explain. He didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

Instead, he swept John into his arms and caught his lips in a passionate kiss. John forced him off him long enough for tea with Mrs Hudson and some conversation and Sherlock tried to wait patiently but was pretty sure he didn’t do a good job of it.

As soon as Mrs Hudson was out the door Sherlock shut and locked it. He turned just in time to see John crowd him up against the door. John seemed to have grown three times, he was everywhere, his lips on Sherlock’s, his hand rucking up Sherlock’s shirt, his other groping Sherlock’s arse.

Sherlock tried to take control. He took John’s face in his hand, tilting it back and found John pinning his other hand to the door by the wrist. Sherlock tried to break free but John turned him around, pushing his face against the door with his arse out, bent over, wrist pinned.

He groaned as John thrust against him, grinding himself to full hardness against Sherlock’s arse.

“Bedroom?” John asked.

Sherlock could feel John’s erection through all the clothing. He wanted it. He needed it.

“Yes,” Sherlock gasped.

Still only using his hold on Sherlock’s wrist John spun Sherlock back around. After planting a firm kiss on Sherlock’s lips John released him and started removing his own clothes, tripping on the way to their bedroom.

Sherlock did the same, throwing his clothing from his body as he followed John. He was nearly naked when John stopped and grabbed him. John kissed him soundly before throwing him back onto the bed.

He bounced twice, thrilled and excited. He liked it when John took control. When Captain Watson made an appearance it made him tingle.

Then John turned and bent over to remove his socks and Sherlock saw it.

A butt plug.

“Oh,” he gasped. John had worn that when he went out. He’d talked to people, rode the bus and the tube with it in.

John pounced on him, pinning him to the bed he stroked Sherlock to full hardness roughly. Sherlock fumbled in the bedside cabinet for condoms and lube. When he turned back John’s arse was in his face. He was playing with the plug, moving it in circles, teasing it out but before it was free he pushed it back in.

Sherlock watched, mouth dry.

“What do you want?” John asked, looking coyly over his shoulder.

“I want…” Sherlock’s mind went blank when John removed the plug entirely.

“Want what?”

“You. Want you,” Sherlock said. His mind was filled with static.

John turned around, took the condom from Sherlock and put it on him. Then he lubed it up. Sherlock just reached out and petted John, touching every bit of exposed skin he could reach.

When John straddled him Sherlock reached out and stroked John erection.

John lowered himself and Sherlock’s eyes rolled back in his head when he felt himself breach John’s body. John groaned and Sherlock could feel his muscles ripple as John sank down. Then, before he knew it, John’s arse was resting on Sherlock’s hips.

Though all this Sherlock worked John’s cock.

John stilled his hand by touching his wrist.

“Just sit back and watch,” John said.

Sherlock obediently laced his fingers behind his head and as he watched John raised up and sank down, his erection bobbing with his every movement.

He could take in more this way. He could see John’s abdominal muscles work from below his stomach. How John’s erection had started leaking a puddle onto Sherlock’s stomach. How John’s muscles tightened on the way up and different ones tightened on the way down. How the muscles in John’s arms shifted, rippled. How John bit his lip and gasped whenever he hit his prostate. John rolled his hips as he sunk down and soon he was sweating. He gasped and Sherlock started raising his hips to meet John’s and soon they’d worked themselves into a rhythm.

John’s legs started to fail so Sherlock planted his feet and held John’s hips to thrust into him. John looked relieved and rested back on Sherlock’s knees and thighs. Sherlock was close and based on John’s hand movements on his cock he was close too. Sherlock pounded into it, holding John’s hips so he hit John’s prostate head on. John wasn’t as sensitive as he was and enjoyed the rough treatment.

“Ah! Yeah! Fuck! Me! Yes! Sher! Lock!” John punctuated each thrust with a shout.

The bed creaked and moaned and Sherlock didn’t care if he broke the bed he wasn’t stopping until John came. The posts and headboard banged against the wall adding to John’s shouts.

John’s hand blurred as he worked himself and Sherlock had to stop John’s muscles seized so much and John’s mouth opened in a silent scream and his back bowed as he came. Come splattered over Sherlock’s chest.

The pressure around his cock lessened and Sherlock was able to move the two thrusts he needed to come deep in John’s body.

Sherlock held the condom’s base as John fell sideways off of him. Then he removed it, tying a knot to keep the come inside. He wanted to compare it to the last sperm sample he’d taken from himself.

John kissed his cheekbone to get his attention and Sherlock turned so they could kiss each other.

“God, I love you,” they said at the same time.

Sherlock chuckled and John giggled and a piece of plaster from a crack they’d created up the wall fell between them, causing him the laugh harder.


	14. Sensory Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this for a different fic that I ended up never posting. I tried to edit it so it fits the same tone. Hopefully you'll like it.

“Are you sure?” John asked again.

He’d seen the scars, the physical tokens from Sherlock’s trip to Serbia. He understood that Sherlock had been restrained, had been beaten before. So, he was surprised when Sherlock said he wanted John to dominate him.

“I’m fine, John.”

John tested his restraints, tight but not too tight, made of silk instead of metal and knots tied so Sherlock could free himself if it became too much.

John’s knee rested on the bed while he kissed Sherlock’s forehead. “Tell me if it’s too much, ok?”

“Green for good, yellow for nearly too much, red for stop,” Sherlock recited.

“Good boy.” John kissed each of Sherlock’s eyelids before lowering the blindfold. 

“Hold still for me,” John ordered and started dragging a feather over Sherlock’s skin. He started at the tip of Sherlock’s right hand, brushing over the pads of his fingers before dragging along the backs of Sherlock’s hands. He flicked the feather against Sherlock’s wrist, just above the ribbon. Sherlock inhaled sharply but didn’t flinch.

“Such a good boy,” John said as he dragged the feather along the underside of Sherlock’s arm. He avoided Sherlock’s armpit, tracing over his arm along the side of his neck. He brushed the feathers along Sherlock’s jawline and up his chin over his lips. He moved over to Sherlock’s cheekbone and was sad Sherlock had asked for a blindfold. He wanted to trace the feather over his eyelids.

John lifted the feathers from Sherlock’s body altogether so he would be surprised when he ran them over Sherlock’s nipples. Sherlock gasped and recoiled from the tickling touch.

Sherlock whimpered.

John ran the feathers over the right side of Sherlock’s ribcage and down tracing patterns into Sherlock’s sides. Sherlock clenched his abs willing his transport to ignore the input, to not flinch away, to endure. John moved the feathers up into Sherlock’s armpit and Sherlock shouted a laugh. Sherlock’s legs tense and John watched his toes curl.

Brushing against Sherlock’s nipple again, just the lightest touch, John danced the feather over the pink nub until it pebbled. Sherlock shook, panted, bit his lip and only just managed to hold still.

“Good boy,” John said and moved the feather’s down to Sherlock’s belly button. Sherlock tensed and released his abs as the feathers danced over them. John dipped the feathers into Sherlock’s belly button and Sherlock exhaled noisily but managed to hold still. “God, you’re gorgeous,” John murmured. He lowered the feathers, running them through Sherlock’s pubic hair. It was clear Sherlock wanted to move his hips, it must have tickled terribly so John moved on quickly. He dragged the feather down, moving to the side and running it along the inside of Sherlock’s thigh, ignoring Sherlock’s bobbing cock.

Sherlock whimpered. He wasn’t fully hard but any touch would do the trick.

“Patience, beautiful,” John murmured as he dragged the feather down, around Sherlock’s kneecap and up along the outside of Sherlock’s thigh. The feather caught on Sherlock’s leg hair and Sherlock’s muscles jumped as he tried to stay still.

Instead of bringing the feather down over the top of Sherlock’s thigh as was logical John went back along the side of Sherlock’s abdomen and returned to Sherlock’s nipple.

“Ah, ha! Nn, John!” This time Sherlock was fighting to not push into the contact.

John walked down to the foot of the bed and stood, not touching Sherlock, letting Sherlock work himself up. Sherlock whimpered and curled his toes and still, John just stood. Sherlock whined out of his nose and balled his fists but that couldn’t get John to just do it already.

Just when Sherlock’s brow furrowed and his mouth twisted John thought he’d had enough. He dragged the feather along the arch of Sherlock’s foot.

“Arugh!” Sherlock arched his back and flinched his foot, drawing it back sharply so it pulled against the restraint.

John didn’t wait for Sherlock to recover, he bounced the feathers along Sherlock’s toes. He attacked mercilessly. John stepped to the side and brushed the feathers along the tops of Sherlock’s feet.

Sherlock writhed on the bed. John teased mercilessly. He knew it itched, it tickled and itched and was driving him nuts. Sherlock called out yellow and John risked continuing. He used more pressure, scratching the feathers along Sherlock’s feet.

“Colour?”

“Green!” Sherlock shouted voice wrecked.

John brought the feathers up Sherlock’s right side again, wrapping around to the inside of Sherlock’s shin, stopping to tickle the back of Sherlock’s knee.

Moving up along the inside of Sherlock’s thigh John moved in this time, but instead of brushing over the top of Sherlock’s prick he went lower, tangling the feather in the wiry hair of Sherlock’s bollox.

Sherlock cried out a hard, “Jah!”

Sherlock bit his lip and whined out of his nose and so John moved up. John bypassed Sherlock’s cock, dragging the feathers up along the sides of Sherlock’s abs, tracing the inside of Sherlock’s rib cage and tangling the feathers in Sherlock’s sparse chest hair.

John had been at it for minutes, how many John didn’t know, it felt like ages that he had focused on his right side.

The feather danced over Sherlock’s nipple again and Sherlock jumped. John played with Sherlock’s nipple, ignoring Sherlock’s shaking chocked off sobs. He alternated between soft and hard touches so Sherlock couldn’t grow immune to the contact.

“Sir, please!”

It was clear Sherlock was desperate, his cock was fully erect, he hadn’t even touched there yet.

“Please, what? You’re being such a good boy I might just give you what you want.”

“Please,” Sherlock begged again and John wondered what he was begging for. Mercy? No, it was clear Sherlock was loving this. Attention to his cock? No, the denial was driving him wild.

Suddenly the feathers were gone and John pressed his lips to Sherlock’s. Sherlock let John invade his mouth, he sucked on John’s tongue, letting John know that he was ready to please him. John took Sherlock’s mouth like a man starved. He bit Sherlock’s lower lip, sucked on Sherlock’s cupid bow, he wrapped his hand around the back of Sherlock’s head and pulled on Sherlock’s curls.

“Ahh!” Sherlock arched and savoured the rough treatment after so long with the feather.

John disappeared as fast as he’d come. He knew Sherlock could hear him walk around the bed and he fumbled with the Wartenberg Pinwheel, it falling to the ground. He hadn’t meant to but perhaps it would engage Sherlock.

He ran the sharp pricks and cool metal of the Wartenberg Pinwheel along the outside of Sherlock’s right foot.

“Oh, God!” Sherlock just managed not to flinch away.

John was feeling rather brilliant. Light feathery touches to one side of his body and sharp pain to the other. He never pressed hard, never drawing blood. But he knew it could hurt, like when John dragged the wheel over Sherlock’s bony ankle.

“Mmm!” Sherlock shivered at the sharp pain.

His foot twitched sideways but John ignored it like the curling of Sherlock’s toes. John dragged the wheel over each of Sherlock’s tendons down to the tips of each of Sherlock’s toes and back up to Sherlock’s ankle. Starting from Sherlock’s big toe all the way down to the littlest, curling around each nail, inside, outside, inside, outside. The giving Sherlock the exquisite torture he craved until his entire foot was covered in lines of little red dots.

When John was done with Sherlock’s foot he wrapped the pinwheel around Sherlock’s ankle, only touching the parts not touching the mattress, not giving Sherlock any sensory input other than that provided by the little metal pins.

Instead of moving along the inside of Sherlock’s thigh John dragged the pinwheel over Sherlock’s shin. Sherlock did nothing but groan as John moved over the thin skin.

“Good boy. Good boy, Sherlock. Good boy. Who’s my good boy?” John dragged the pinwheel up the outside of Sherlock’s thigh and ran it down Sherlock’s hipbone.

“Me,” Sherlock gasped.

John knew Sherlock soaked in the praise like a cactus in a desert storm.

He wasn’t moving as much, clearly, the pain was easier to endure than the tickling feathers.

That was until the wheel moved over Sherlock’s left testicle.

“Aarugh!” Sherlock shouted but he managed to stay still.

“Brilliant, you’re brilliant, Sherlock. My good boy.”

John moved the wheel back and up over Sherlock’s pubic bone. Sherlock tensed and John knew why. He didn’t want one of his pubic hairs got caught in the wheel and yanked out but John was careful and the movement of the wheel of (relatively) pain-free as it moved up and around the left side of Sherlock’s belly button.

He walked as he dragged the wheel knowing the pressure changed with each of his steps. He dragged the wheel up Sherlock’s midline not deviating and heading to his nipple like he was expecting. John went up Sherlock’s neck, over his chin, watching the individual pins across the sensitive skin of his lips. Sherlock shivered, as John ran over Sherlock’s cheekbone several times.

Then he moved the wheel down Sherlock’s cheek, over the side of his jawbone, down his neck, over his collarbone, and up his shoulder. As John scissored the wheel up Sherlock’s arm Sherlock tensed, clearly resisting the urge to squirm. As the pins moved over his veins, making red marks over white scars Sherlock gasped. John realized the discomfort he was causing and he moved the wheel to the side of Sherlock’s arm, making a beeline for his pinkie finger.

Sherlock held his hand still as John moved over it. John traced lines on Sherlock’s bones, drew outlines around Sherlock’s fingernails, pushed harder over the pad of Sherlock’s thumb. Sherlock’s digit moved with the force, the pricks would be darker there.

Sherlock groaned.

“Amazing,” John breathed.

John couldn’t resist kissing him again, more teeth than tongue this time. Sherlock fought his restraints and John needed to discourage that.

So he pulled back, disappeared and caused a sharp pain to blossom in Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock gasped and it seemed to take him longer than it should have to realize John was using the Wartenberg Pinwheel on his nipple. Sherlock arched off the bed, writhing.

“Sherlock, hold still! You’ll hurt yourself,” John ordered.

Sherlock fell like a puppet that strings were cut. He endured it as the wheel ran circles around the sensitive flesh, as it ran back and forth, until no part his flesh wasn’t hot and sporting little red marks.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Sherlock shouted with each exhale. John spun the wheel, scraping lines into Sherlock’s flesh over the hardened nub. Sherlock let out a high pitched screeching from between his clenched teeth.

“Good boy,” John said when he took the tool away.

He soothed Sherlock’s nipple with a couple licks before blowing, cooling the saliva and Sherlock’s soreness both.

John ran the wheel up Sherlock’s flank and back down, tracing the outline of each of his ribs.

When John was done with Sherlock’s ribs the wheel was lifted off his skin again.

Sherlock did a kegal, drawing John’s attention to his neglected member and John chuckled.

“No, we’re done with foreplay,” John said. He didn’t want to injure Sherlock. He said he could hold still but he squirmed all over the place. John was determined not to hurt him, especially his manhood.

John had plans for that erection.


	15. Dildo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bathtubs, dildos and blow jobs oh my!

Sherlock rubbed his wrists, they didn’t hurt but he’d fought against his bindings while John was teasing him and it felt unnatural to be free. The blindfold was gone and Sherlock saw his body half covered in little red marks. They’d tickled as the wheel pricked him. Some had hurt but Sherlock was so worked up by that point he enjoyed it.

“I want to see if you can come untouched,” John said.

Sherlock froze. He looked up at John. He was serious.

“I can’t,” Sherlock said.

At that, John looked smug. “I bet you can.”

If anyone could do it, it would be John. However, Sherlock was too wound up to attempt something like that today.

“Tomorrow,” Sherlock said.

“Tomorrow,” John agreed, he didn’t seem put out but he did stare at Sherlock’s erection hungrily.

It was nearly enough to make Sherlock blush.

“There is something I’ve always wanted to try,” Sherlock said.

“What?”

“Remember that porn we were watching?”

“Yes,” John said. He looked wary.

“Relax, I don’t want anyone then you,” Sherlock said. As exciting as it would be to do this with another person Sherlock didn’t share. John was _his._

“Then…?”

Sherlock stood and dug around in his bedside drawer. It didn’t take him long to find his prize.

“Ah, ha!” He held it up for John to see.

“Is that a dildo with a suction cup on the end?” John asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, smiling at it.

“You can’t put that against the headboard,” John said, tilting his head at the crack they’d put in the wall yesterday.

“Couldn’t anyway,” Sherlock said. He’d tried it before, his legs always got in the way and he couldn’t get it in his arse properly if at all and if it were the other way he didn’t fancy breaking his nose against the headboard if John got too vigorous. The dido was small enough that it was a concern.

“I have an idea,” John said.

Blankets were put on the floor of the bathroom and the dildo stuck to the side of the claw foot tub. Sherlock knelt, legs under the tub, and worked the lubed dildo into himself. Then John knelt in front of him, erection bobbing in his face.

It was a good idea.

John scooted forward and Sherlock shuffled back so his arse was pressed against the tub and the head of John’s cock was heavy on his tongue. Then Sherlock shifted his weight forward, the smooth slippery slide of the dildo as it moved out of him made him groan around the cock in his mouth making John twitch. He didn’t move forward though, just held still and let Sherlock take him in at his own pace.

Sherlock got as far as he could without the dildo leaving him so he had John shuffle forward until Sherlock’s nose was buried in John’s pubic hair. Sherlock swallowed around John, causing him to shout and he aborted a thrust in.

John sighed shakily when Sherlock looked up at him. Sherlock watched as John put his hand in Sherlock’s hair and tilted his head into the carding fingers.

“Stunning,” John said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He didn’t understand why John had to compliment him all the time. He wasn’t traditionally beautiful, in fact, he looked a little weird, but then, love blinded people.

Besides, it was never a good idea to insult the person that had your cock in their mouth.

Sherlock slid back, impaling himself on the dildo. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked as he did, looking up at John through his lashes. John was biting his lip.

“This is so hot,” John said.

Sherlock agreed.

His arse hit against the cold tub and he only had the tip of John’s cock in his mouth. He licked it and played with it, rubbing his tongue under the glans, swirling his tongue around the tip. He couldn’t back off, he had to have John’s cock in his mouth and it made him shiver. The tubs sides were angled so the dildo pressed against his prostate. He could already feel himself leaking. He shivered in the cold room. This was filthy.

He slid forward. He needed more of John. But he lost some of the dildo, he slid back to get it but then he lost some of John. Sherlock started rocking, forward and back, forward and back, the dildo sliding in and out, rubbing his prostate, John’s cock sliding in and out, pressing on his tongue and throat.

Sherlock whimpered. It wasn’t enough.

John carefully, catching Sherlock’s eye to make sure it was ok, started moving forward. Sherlock moved so that he was taking the dildo and John in at the same time and then John would rock back and Sherlock would take a deep breath, sliding up the dildo so only the end was still in him. Then John would move forward and Sherlock was impaled on both ends.

They moved together, finding a rhythm quickly and abandoning it just as quick. Sherlock started feeling on edge and he could tell from John’s cock and face that he was close too. Sherlock pushed on John’s hip with one hand. John got the message and sat back on his heels so Sherlock’s mouth was free.

“Come on my face,” Sherlock said, wiping the spit from his chin.

“Fuck, yes,” John said and hurriedly grabbed his cock, knelt back up and shoved it in Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock saw him wince a bit as he caught one of Sherlock’s sharper teeth.

John’s hand went back into Sherlock’s hair. He didn’t fuck Sherlock’s face and Sherlock was glad for it. John just moved in and out, forward and backwards, letting Sherlock match his rhythm. Sherlock found one easily.

As he wrapped his hand around his cock he moved back on the dildo, angling his hips so the drag was just right across his prostate. The precome was dripping enough that he could work his cock without additional lube.

John’s cock was getting harder so Sherlock sped all his movements, he rocked back and forward as fast as he could while kneeling on one hand. His hand blurred on his cock. He groaned, saying John’s name with a full mouth, humming for John’s pleasure.

It sent John over the edge.

John pulled out and Sherlock closed his eyes. He felt come splatter on his cheekbone and forehead. It ran down his face. Since none of it was near his eyes he opened them and looked at John.

“Oh, my god,” John gasped.

Sherlock fucked himself on the dildo wildly and came with a shout not a minute later. When he was spent he slid forward and freed himself from the dildo. He winced as he stood, his knees ached. The towels and blanket weren’t adequate protection against the tiled floor.

“Christ, you’re going to be the death of me,” John said, staring at Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock looked in the mirror, seeing pearly white come all over his face. John had gotten his chin in addition to the other parts. His curls were sweat soaked and his face and chest were flushed.

He looked wrecked.

“Here, I’ll take care of the laundry,” John said, picking up the bathroom floor. Sherlock used toilet tissue to clean the worst off his face and then washed the rest off.

They curled up together in the bedroom, falling asleep in each other’s arms.


	16. Prostate Massager

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another chapter I took from the unfinished fic. Hopefully I did a better job editing it.

“Good morning,” John said, kissing Sherlock’s neck.

He’d woken up to see Sherlock frowning at his mobile. John was surprised he was still in bed.

“Morning,” Sherlock responded.

“Anything on?” John asked. Sherlock must be checking their email and the blog for cases.

“No.”

“Good,” John said. Yesterday they’d agreed that he’d be able to try and make Sherlock come untouched.

Sherlock looked over, brow furrowed. He looked John up and down before his eyes lit with understanding. The corner of his mouth quirked up and he turned back to the phone.

“Prostate massager,” was all he said.

John smiled.

\----

There was a jangle as John attached Sherlock’s feet to a spreader bar. He’d said that being restained would help. He found it hot when John dominated him. Now, Sherlock was exposed and John spread the bar further. The sensation made Sherlock arch his back. God, it was hot.

John tested the massager he bought, making it buzz as he added batteries. He’d been embarrassed at the shop picking it out but imagining it in Sherlock gave him the strength to ignore the shop girl’s, “Have fun!” as he left.

“On your knees now, that’s a good boy,” John said as he planted a kiss to Sherlock’s buttock.

Sherlock scrambled to his knees before John could finish his sentence, only slightly hampered by the bar. He flinched when a cold dollop hit his hole. John teased, circling endlessly before finally pushing in with only the tip of his finger. He held it there, moving back when Sherlock tried to push back and be properly breached.

“Needy, aren’t we?”

“Yes, sir. Please,” Sherlock begged breathlessly.

John twisted his finger before removing it. Sherlock whimpered at the loss but stopped when the smooth plastic of a toy pressed against his entrance. It was small, not requiring too much prep.

John slid the prostate massager in and made sure it was seated correctly.

After he brushed a hand along Sherlock’s flank John turned the massager to its lowest setting.

Sherlock nearly chocked when he cried out. His legs shook but he couldn’t close them. John watched his cock start to bob. His eyes rolled back in his head.

“There are five settings on this. How about five minutes? One minute each setting?”

“Oh, God!” Sherlock fell to his elbows.

John brushed a finger over Sherlock’s erection. Sherlock moaned and pushed into the contact. John wanted him to come untouched though so he took his finger away quickly.

“Needy, who’s my needy boy?”

“I am, sir,” Sherlock said between pants. John required a response to each of his questions. It was a test, a reminder to use a colour if it got too much. Sherlock didn’t have to answer, exactly, just form some sort of word.

Sherlock tensed, he rocked back and forth as John watched. His legs fought against the restraints and John watched sweat slide down Sherlock’s back and precome leak from his cock.

“That’s a minute, ask me for it.”

Sherlock looked up, racking his brain before figuring out what John wanted. “Please, sir, please turn up the vibrator.”

“Good boy,” John said and clicked the button that upped the vibrations.

“Ah, ha, nnguh!”

Sherlock tried to rut against the air but all rocking his hips did was move the massager back and forth over his prostate.

“Give me a colour, Sherlock,” John said as he ran his hand up and down Sherlock’s spine.

“Green,” Sherlock said as he whimpered nasally.

“You’re doing so well, Sherlock. My good boy.”

John had been wary about dominating Sherlock. They’d had a long conversation before he agreed to it. He was glad he did. He liked praising Sherlock and it was incredibly hot to have him at his mercy.

After a bit, John said, “That’s a minute, ask me for it, Sherlock.”

“Please, sir.”

“Please what?”

Sherlock whimpered. He swallowed thickly before saying, “Please turn up the vibrator.”

John clicked the button and Sherlock jolted as if he’d been shocked. Sherlock leaned back on his elbows, bowing his chest toward the bed. John swatted his pushed up arse and he made a high pitched squeal John found incredibly hot.

A touch to his cock made Sherlock moan. John was very careful, not wanting to ruin his experiment. But the leaking red thing was too enticing to leave alone.

“It’s time, Sherlock, beg me. Do a proper job of it.”

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut. “Please, John turn up the vibrator. I need it. Please, John!”

“Hm, that’s twice you’ve said my name. I think another punishment is in order.” Nevertheless, John clicked up the vibrator. Sherlock was supposed to call him sir during scenes. John had said either that or captain. Sherlock had opted for the one with fewer syllables.

Nearly senseless with sensation Sherlock didn’t seem to hear him.

“John, John, John,” he chanted, begging for mercy.

“Colour, Sherlock. Give me a colour, pet.”

“Green! Oh, God, John!” Sherlock whimpered and cried out.

Sherlock’s balls raised up against his body and John’s mouth went dry.

“Last one, last minute, Sherlock. Ask me.”

“Please, John, turn it up! Please give it to me. I can take it! I can,” Sherlock seemed to be trying to convince himself.

A bead of sweat run up his spine to his neck. Sweat was dripping down his face. His legs were shaking, about to give out. One more minute, John was nearly shaking.

John turned the massager to its highest setting.

Sherlock shrieked and felt his legs give out. At the same time, he arched his back, throwing his head back. John watched, open-mouthed. This was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

“John!” Sherlock shouted, needing his dom to be closer.

John ran and petted Sherlock’s curls. He ran his fingers over Sherlock’s lips, meeting his wild eyes.

“John!” he cried out.

He started humping the mattress and John yanked his hips up. He was supposed to come untouched.

“John,” Sherlock whimpered.

“Shh, fifteen seconds, pet.” John stoked Sherlock’s flank.

“Ten seconds, nine, eight…” John reached around and pulled Sherlock’s nipple, rubbing it between his fingers.

“Seven, six, five…”

Sherlock screamed as he came, making John’s ears ring. The come shot up the bed. He twitched and writhed and he was still coming when John realized he should probably turn off the massager.

Once it was turned off and Sherlock fell forward, hitting his head against the headboard.

“Jesus Christ!” John shouted, concerned. 

Sherlock didn’t resist as John pulled him back and flipped him over. He blinked blearily up at John.

“If it’s too much you’re supposed to tell me!” John said angerly. He carefully checked Sherlock’s head and examined his eyes.

“’m fine,” Sherlock almost said John but caught himself, “sir.”

But as far as John was concerned the scene was over. He was terrified he had hurt him.

John undid Sherlock’s wrist restraints and massaged the joints. He rubbed out the red marks and kissed them before he planted a kiss on Sherlock’s forehead.

“Thank you, sir,” Sherlock said.

John wanted to tell him to stop but didn’t want to ruin it by scolding Sherlock. He might be in a weakened state and John didn’t want to misstep.

“Budge up, Sher. I’m going to get you a glass of water.”

John didn’t want to leave Sherlock alone too long so he took the glass from the bathroom.

Sherlock drank obediently when John returned.

“I pushed you too far,” John said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

With a shake of his head, Sherlock said, “No you didn’t. I’m rather proud of myself and I don’t want you ruining it.”

John blinked up at him, mouth set in a grimace. He might have agreed with Sherlock except for the red lump on his forehead.

Sherlock’s hand shook as he reached out and took John’s face in his hand.

“Give me a minute and I’ll take care of that,” he looked down at John’s tented trousers.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know, but I want to.”

They smiled at each other.


	17. Fucked and Sucked

Sherlock closed his eyes for a second, just a second, it had been a very powerful orgasm and he was a bit tired.

When he opened his eyes again the sun had changed. The light coming through the window was brighter, more yellow. It was afternoon.

Sherlock yawned and stood, scratching flakes of semen off his side (he’d fallen asleep in dirty sheets). John had probably taken care of himself and when he found the bathroom steamy he was sure of it. He wrinkled his nose grumpily. He’d wanted to take care of John’s erection. He needed to keep John sexually satisfied to show him he could be happy here. So when he proposed John would say yes. Sherlock already had cases for them to work, he could keep John busy and provide a life of danger and excitement and he had more than enough money for the two of them. All that was left was the sex.

And now John had taken care of himself in the shower after giving Sherlock such an orgasm that he still felt a bit boneless.

Sherlock took a quick shower and wrapped a towel around his hips, forgoing a dressing gown in case John was still feeling amorous.

When he stepped into the hallway he saw Mrs Hudson and she looked stricken. Sherlock could see when their eyes met that John had upset her but she didn’t blame him.

Whatever had upset John was serious and serious matters required clothing.

Fully clothed Sherlock exited the bedroom to see John. He was standing in the hallway clutching a baby blanket. He looked up at Sherlock, eyes glistening.

Sherlock deduced that John had gone over to his house, intending to pack it up so he could sell it. He didn’t want to waste money on it now that he didn’t have a job. He’d done two—no, three—rooms before starting on Rosie’s.

“Did you?”

Sherlock didn’t need to ask what John meant. John was holding the blanket Sherlock had gotten for his daughter. He had to have found the stash Sherlock had of things for her.

John wasn’t asking if Sherlock loved her if Sherlock wanted to keep her. No, he was asking if Sherlock knew she wasn’t John’s.

“Not for sure,” Sherlock said.

“You knew Mary was unfaithful?” John asked, eyes hard.

“No, suspected only.” It was why he went to great lengths to keep them apart and only let them meet when John was present.

John looked up at Sherlock, searching for answers. Why had Mary cheated on him? Why had she never said? Why had she pretended Rosie was John’s? Why had she left a note for Rosie’s real dad delivered on her death?

Sherlock didn’t have answers.

He did know that John wasn’t only sad, that he was angry. He needed an outlet.

“Want to dominate me?”

“I’m not in the mood, Sherlock,” John said, head hung low.

“Why don’t you take the riding crop to me?”

“What?!” John looked at Sherlock. He looked livid.

“It will make you feel better.”

“NO.” John’s tone was final.

Sherlock was confused. “No?”

“I’m never hitting you again. Never again.”

Sherlock pouted. He’d never experienced that. He trusted John to do the job properly. To not leave any lasting marks, to not do any permeant damage. 

“Never, Sherlock.” John took Sherlock’s face in hand and kissed him tenderly.

“It wouldn’t be like that,” Sherlock argued.

“No,” John said.

When John said no like that it meant no. He wasn’t going to change his mind.

Just as well, Sherlock consoled himself, he hadn’t cleaned his crop after using it on that corpse.

Sherlock took John out for a quiet dinner and helped him pack away the rest of the things in the house after.

By the time they were done, it was early morning.

“I’ll see about getting an estate agent tomorrow,” John said, standing among the many boxes.

“I’ll have some of my network help us. Take the things for donation and whatnot,” Sherlock said.

John looked exhausted.

Sherlock called a cab.

When they got home, he wasn’t tired but John was. Sherlock didn’t want John to sleep in this mindset. He’d have nightmares.

So, Sherlock crawled in bed with him, peppering his face with kisses, whispering “I love you,” into his skin.

John allowed it so Sherlock took it as welcome. He kissed John while he peeled his nightclothes off, covering every bare bit of John’s skin with the press of his lips. He kissed over John’s nipples, down his stomach, up one leg, down the other, each of his toes, then he took John’s cock in his mouth and sucked. He licked and lapped at it until it was hard.

Then he got off the bed and piled pillows on the edge. He set John’s hips upon them and lubed up his finger.

John moaned delightfully as Sherlock teased his hole. Sherlock ran his finger around John’s rim, sliding over the hole but not entering. Clockwise then counterclockwise until—

“Sherlock, please,” John begged.

Only then did Sherlock slide his finger inside. He stroked John’s insides, searching for the little nub.

When he found it he circled it, touching everywhere but it before grinding his finger against it.

John mewled and precome leaked out of his slit.

“Sherlock,” John gasped.

Taking that as a sign that he wanted more Sherlock removed his finger and lubed up the finger next to it. He pushed the two inside and John groaned.

“Condom, fuck me,” John gasped while Sherlock scissored his fingers inside him.

Sherlock fumbled in the nightstand, finally finding and putting on the last condom

“I don’t know if I can still do this,” Sherlock warned.

“Do what?! Just stick it in me!”

Sherlock chuckled and did as bid. He groaned as he pushed in. As he moved deeper Sherlock bent in half, capturing John’s lips just as he was fully seated.

John was the one to break the kiss. “Fuck me, Sherlock.”

Sherlock wasn’t interested in a quick rough fuck. He wanted to worship John.

“Shhhh,” he said before planting a kiss on John’s forehead.

John rolled his hips impertinently.

Sherlock chuckled and started sliding out.

“No,” John gasped.

“Hold still,” Sherlock said.

He took John’s erection in hand and bent forward until his lips were wrapped around the head. Then he held John in his mouth while slid in. He couldn’t get fully seated. He slid out and at the same time, he lowered his head, taking in more of John’s cock. He kept one hand on John’s cock and one on John’s hip.

“Oh, my god!” John gasped.

Sherlock sucked hard, causing John to gasp.

Sherlock slid up John’s cock and thrust his own cock deeper. Then carefully took more of John’s cock into his mouth and slid his own cock out. He slowly worked himself into a rhythm, hands gripping hard to keep a writhing John Watson in place.

John’s cock was smooth and hard as steel in his mouth, there was a constant bitter salt taste from the slit as Sherlock fucked him. He had to be careful not to hit him with his sharp teeth and hurt him.

“Sher! Sher! Sher! Sher!” John chanted, his head thrashing back and forth.

Sherlock’s back was aching and his abdominal muscles were cramping. Still, he kept his pace. John had to be getting close.

He started working his tongue against John’s cock and tried to angle his hips to hit John’s prostate. He fucked and sucked with abandon, trying to get John to come.

John’s cock got bigger and harder in Sherlock’s mouth.

“SHERLOCK!” John shouted and Sherlock’s mouth was filled with bitter salty come.

Sherlock pulled off, wiping his mouth. He gripped John’s hips with both hands and pounded into him. John’s muscles clamped down on his cock and he saw John, flushed, sweaty, with come splattered over his stomach sent Sherlock over the edge. He gripped John’s hips hard and his bollox hit against John’s arse as he came.

He held onto the condom as he pulled out and set it to the side.

“Holy fuck,” John said. “I can’t believe you can do that. I always thought it was impossible.”

“Not impossible, just improbable.” Sherlock’s whole body hurt. He needed to do some stretching before he tried that again.

“Christ,” John giggled. He looked up at Sherlock, eyes alight. “You’re incredible.”

Sherlock smiled and tucked John in.

He put some clothes back on and went outside to find Mrs Hudson tiding up their living room.

“Oh, hello, dear,” she said. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please. Some of those biscuits, too, if you have some.”

“I’m fresh out. But if you boys can keep from shouting at every hour of the day maybe I can make you more.”

Sherlock felt his face heat.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you’re together—it’s about time!—but I’d appreciate it if you could either keep it down or move to the bedroom upstairs.”

Well, Sherlock wasn’t going to tell John to be quiet. He rather liked hearing him gasp, moan and shout below him. And when he screamed it made Sherlock’s toes curl.

“I’ll see about moving the bed,” Sherlock said.

Mrs Hudson nodded happily and set about making tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI this move can be done, I didn't make it up.


	18. Sub John in the Tub

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one fought me. I'm glad there's a week till Christmas. Whew!

John only took a nap, wanting to keep his sleep schedule as normal as it could be when he lived with Sherlock Holmes. He almost felt like this morning had been a dream. It didn’t seem possible, that Sherlock had fucked him and sucked him off at the same time. But he had the evidence of it on his stomach.

He checked his mobile and saw he had an unheard message. It was the surgery he’d gone to for his test. He phoned them back, sure it was just a formality.

“Watson? Yes, I have your results here, looks like you’re positive for chlamydia. I’ll write you a script for some antibiotics.”

When he hung up he was furious with himself. He was mad at Mary too but he was mostly angry with himself. He’d forgone condoms for oral sex despite knowing the risks. Chlamydia could be spread through oral sex. It was possible he’d infected Sherlock.

He wasn’t looking forward to telling Sherlock this. It wasn’t the worst news, Chlamydia was easily cured with antibiotics, but it wasn’t going to be a comfortable conversation.

With a sigh, John got up to go give Sherlock the news.

He found the living room filled with boxes. His boxes. The boxes from his house with Mary. Also, there were a bunch of contacts from Sherlock’s homeless network milling about.

“Sherlock?” John called, looking for his boyfriend in a room filled with strangers.

“Oh, good. John, you’re awake.”

“What’s all this?”

“Everyone, go in and start working on the furniture. And don’t mess with my sock index!”

“Sherlock? What’s going on?” John asked as people filed past him.

“We’re moving to the upstairs bedroom.”

“Why?” John asked, confused. He rather liked being next to the bathroom. There was a toilet upstairs but John didn’t use it. It was more than a little finicky.

Mrs Hudson complained about the noise.

John’s face flushed and he was mortified. He remembered Sherlock’s scream and that they’d knocked some of the plaster down they’d knocked the headboard against the wall so much.

“Oh, god,” John said and buried his face in his hands.

“I don’t see why she’s complaining, she had the best gossip at bridge and Mrs Turner and her stopped their feud complaining about the noise to each other.

“Oh, god!”

“Yes, I believe that’s the exact phrase—”

“Sherlock!”

“That too,” Sherlock said, a smug smile on his face.

“I need a walk,” John announced. He couldn’t tell Sherlock he had an STI with all these people in the house and he really needed to get the thought that Mrs Hudson had heard their amorous activities out of his head.

John put on his coat and went down the stairs. John’s bed had been moved in front of the door so John had to go out the back door.

He phoned Mike, thinking a pint was in order but he didn’t answer. He phoned Lestrade, who did and was happy to get drinks.

John walked to the pub to find Lestrade already there.

He ordered a pint and sat next to Greg.

“Sherlock already driving you nuts?”

“Oh, no, he’s been great actually,” John said. He realized just how many times he called Lestrade to complain about his flatmate and cringed.

“Good,” Lestrade said.

They were silent for a bit. John knew he was waiting for John to tell him why he called. John didn’t really want to tell Lestrade he called because he’d probably given Sherlock an STI and their landlady had heard their very loud and frequent sex.

“What’s new with you?” John asked.

“I’m seeing Molly, actually,” Lestrade said.

“That’s great!” John said. Molly hadn’t really gotten over Sherlock telling her he loved her. Her smiles since had been a bit watery.

“How long?” John asked.

“Few weeks now,” Greg said, smiling.

John hadn’t seen Molly in that time and he hoped she was happier now.

“You’re well suited for each other,” John said.

“Thanks,” Greg said.

They turned their attention to the game for a bit.

When the commercial came on Greg asked, “What are you getting Sherlock for Christmas?”

“Hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest.”

“Really?” Greg was aghast.

“We don’t really do Christmas presents.”

“Yes, but you’re dating now,” Greg said.

“I don’t know if you’d call it dating…” John said. They didn’t really go on dates.

“John Watson, that man has been in love with you since you shot that cabbie—yes, I know about that—and if you break his heart, I’ll break your legs.”

John blinked at him.

“Oh damn, they scored,” Lestrade said, attention back on the game.

John took a sip of his drink. He didn’t intend to break Sherlock’s heart. He planned on being with him for the rest of his life, actually. He never wanted to be anywhere but Sherlock’s side. He was happiest when he was with Sherlock.

He was startled to find he’d always wanted to spend the rest of his life with Sherlock. Even when he was furious with him for pretending to be dead he’d wanted to be with him.

“Oh, my god,” John whispered.

“Hm?” Lestrade asked.

“I think I want to marry him,” John said.

Lestrade smiled. “Good.”

John left after his glass was empty. He browsed in some shop windows, trying to find the perfect gift but came up empty-handed. It was getting very close to Christmas. John was frustrated and mad at himself.

He’d needlessly exposed Sherlock to an STI, he’d not thought about getting him a Christmas present, he’d denied that Sherlock and he were dating even though they’d said, “I love you,” to each other on multiple occasions.

John went home, defeated.

He found Sherlock there, waiting for him. The house was otherwise empty, the bed by the front door, the boxes and strangers were gone.

“I want you to dominate me,” John said.

“What?” Sherlock said.

“I want you to dominate me,” John repeated. “I want you to take the riding crop to my back, pour candle wax on me. Hurt me.”

“What happened?” Sherlock asked.

“I have chlamydia,” John said.

Sherlock frowned.

“You’ll have to get antibiotics too, just in case so we don’t spread it to each other.”

“Ok,” Sherlock said, clearly still confused.

John couldn’t say more though. He didn’t want to admit that he never should have married Mary, that he loved Rosie but he was secretly glad she was in someone else’s care, that he’d considered not getting Sherlock—the love of his life—a Christmas present.

He was a miserable human being and he needed someone to punish him.

“Please,” John said.

“Fine, I’ll dominate you. But the rules are the same. I chose the scene.”

“Yes, good,” John said.

“Have some tea, I’ll get things ready,” Sherlock said.

John sipped tea and tried to empty his mind. He thought he heard the bathtub running but he figured it was just Sherlock washing the riding crop. He’d hurt and abused Sherlock during their relationship. He knew Sherlock forgave him, everyone forgave him but himself.

Maybe, when he had Sherlock’s parks, his bruises on his back, he’d be able to forgive himself.

“Come, pet,” Sherlock said, startling John out of his thoughts.

John stood and took Sherlock hand. Instead of leading him to the bedroom Sherlock led John to the bath, where the tub was filled with steaming warm water and bubbles.

“What?” John asked. Why was the tub full? If Sherlock wanted to bathe him shouldn’t it come after?

Maybe Sherlock was worried about cuts getting infected?

“Shh,” Sherlock said. He stood in front of John and started undoing his buttons.

“But—”

“Shh!” Sherlock said and gave him a firm look.

John quieted himself and gave himself over to Sherlock.

Sherlock removed John’s shirt, draping it half inside the sink and dropped to his knees. John swallowed but Sherlock wasn’t about to give him a blow job. He’d turned his attention to John’s shoes and was undoing the laces.

He had John step out of one, then the other, removing the socks with the shoes. Then he undid John’s flies and had John step out of his jeans and pants.

Sherlock took John’s hand and had him step into the tub and lower himself into the water. He folded a washcloth and set it behind John’s head. Then he took out a lighter and lit the candles.

 _“Oh, here we go. Wax play,”_ John thought.

But Sherlock didn’t turn them on John. He only set them down and turned off the light. He lifted his violin and bow from the toilet lid and started to play.

It was a song John recognized but he didn’t know who wrote it. Sherlock wrote it and it seemed to John that it was about them. Their first case, the excitement, their second case, the danger, and on and on through all there cases, racing on and on to a crescendo. It changed in the middle. The melody wasn’t rich, the notes were high and it sounded lonely. John thought it might represent their time apart. When the notes dropped down the song was melancholy. John’s heart broke. The song took on the same tone that it had in the beginning but the notes were off. It wasn’t the same. Then the little flourishes disappeared and John imagined them as Rosie’s laughter. After a bit, it started to flow like it had at the beginning but this was richer and had more depth. It was them finally getting together.

John realized he was crying.

The song, for some reason, reminded John of Christmas. It started to build to another crescendo and then the bow left the strings.

Sherlock knelt beside John and carefully wiped the tears from his eyes.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Sherlock said quietly.

“But—”

“Shh, pet,” Sherlock said. He carded his fingers through John’s hair and petted him.

“You won’t hit me again and I won’t get high like that again.”

It sounded like Sherlock was blaming himself and John opened his mouth to disagree but Sherlock placed his finger over John’s lips.

“You had the option to hit me again, to dominate me with violence, and you refused.”

“Yes, but—”

“Yes, sir,” Sherlock corrected.

“Yes, sir,” John said. Tension left his shoulders.

Sherlock tilted John’s head up and kissed him. The kiss started slow, just gentle presses of lips. But Sherlock started licking the seam of John’s lips and John allowed him into his mouth. He let Sherlock have control and Sherlock took John apart with just his lips.

John’s mind went blank.

Sherlock’s hands roamed John’s body. Running a flannel over every inch of skin. The movement wasn’t impersonal or sexual, it was worshipful. He turned John with gentle nudges and didn’t say a word. He would pepper kisses to John’s skin when John moved.

Carefully, so he didn’t get any shampoo into John’s eyes, Sherlock washed John’s hair. He washed the space between John’s toes and he gently shaved John’s legs for him.

He moved John so he was kneeling and John felt Sherlock’s shirt front against his back. Then he took some of John’s conditioner and started wanking him. Sherlock’s movements were slow, meticulous. He was in no hurry.

John closed his eyes and let the pleasure build at its own pace.

He thought about Sherlock’s song, how it sounded like they were back to the beginning again. How he couldn’t tell that there was all that loneliness and pain in the middle. Sherlock had forgiven him completely and John realized that he was able to forgive himself too. Sherlock was happy and John couldn’t hold them back without making the song sad again. His orgasm was not toe-curling. Just a gentle wave washing over him.

The water started to get cold and Sherlock helped John out of the tub. He wrapped a large towel around John and started to dry him. He used a smaller towel to dry John’s hair and he kissed John’s tears away.

He blew out the candles and unplugged the drain.

“Colour?” Sherlock asked.

“Green,” John said.

“Good boy,” Sherlock said and kissed John’s skin as he dried him.

John was buried in three towels as Sherlock ushered him upstairs. John saw that all the furniture that was in Sherlock’s room was now up here. John distantly wondered if Sherlock had moved all of John’s things into his room.

“Forgive yourself, John,” Sherlock whispered as he removed the towels from John’s body.

John watched Sherlock pull the bedsheets down.

“Do you forgive yourself?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Sherlock led John into bed.

“Be right back, pet,” Sherlock said.

Before John knew it he was being handed a glass of water. Sherlock told him to drink it and he started playing another song on his violin.

This one was Chopin.

“Go to sleep, pet,” Sherlock said and the song morphed into a lullaby.

John shut his eyes and let the music carry him off to sleep.


	19. Imagined Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> masturbatory fantasies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about not post, I ran out of meds and had to see the doctor and when I don't have meds I can't do anything, let alone write.
> 
> Since I have to play catch up I'm putting in some of my old writing for this chapter.

Sherlock woke with John tangled around him. He smiled and closed his eyes, intending on a bit of a lie-in.

Then his phone rang and Sherlock realized why he had woken in the first place.

He carefully extracted himself from John and put on his dressing gown. He padded downstairs to find he had eighteen missed texts and three missed calls.

The mobile rang again, name appearing on the screen.

“Lestrade?”

“Sherlock, finally! I’ve got a weird one.”

“Tell me.”

\----

Sherlock ran up the stairs to go get John. He woke him gently and when John sat up Sherlock realized John was hard.

Deciding they could spare a few minutes Sherlock knelt between John’s legs.

John put his hand on Sherlock’s forehead. “No.”

Sherlock looked up at John, confused and a little irritated. “What do you mean no?” He could tell John wanted it and it wasn’t like John was ever the one to say they had to get to crime scenes right away.

“Um… well…”

Sherlock deduced it then. John had an STI and they were out of condoms.

“It’s not like I can get more infected,” Sherlock said.

“No, you might not have it and I don’t want to expose you again if you don’t.”

“I’m going to be given the antibiotics anyway,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Don’t you want to go to the crime scene?” John asked, changing the subject.

His erection was gone and Sherlock wasn’t going to force anything. He stood and let John get dressed in peace.

The crime scene had just enough information for Sherlock to get a lead. Whoever the murderer was they were smart. Not brilliant, this person didn’t want to get caught. Sherlock was excited. He detailed the clues for John. John found it helpful when Sherlock did this when he wrote up his blog entries.

“Brilliant!”

Sherlock stopped mid-sentence. He didn’t think he blushed, because all the blood in his body was rushing south. It had been a very long time since he’d heard John call him brilliant like that.

He whisked John outside and led him down the alley, he pushed John against the brick and kissed him.

John pushed him off. “No, Sherlock.”

Sherlock frowned down at him.

“No sex until we finish our antibiotics.”

“We haven’t even started them yet!” Sherlock protested.

“Then let’s go to the pharmacy,” John said.

Sherlock groaned.

Of course, the antibiotics had to be taken with food so they had to stop to eat. They had to be taken at the same time every day so John set an alarm on his mobile.

The clues led them to a nightclub that didn’t open until nine so Sherlock took John home and tried to have sex with him again.

“I said no!” John said, getting angry.

Sherlock was frustrated. He’d had a lot of sex recently so he was horny and his plan to show John he could take care of him sexually wouldn’t work if they weren’t having sex.

John stormed out of the house.

At a loss for what else to do Sherlock masturbated. John could be very stubborn, especially when it came to Sherlock’s health. And being wound up like this was detrimental to case solving.

He started slow, imagining John teasing him, stroking him gently, rubbing his skin all over before deciding Sherlock needed punishment for being so impertinent. He teased Sherlock before putting a cock ring on him.

John guided Sherlock so he was bent over the edge of the bed, his nearly purple cock trapped in soft cotton sheets. After a brief argument, John took the pair of Lestrade’s handcuffs that Sherlock had stolen and locked Sherlock’s hands behind his back. He put a small but long butt plug in, with the placement Sherlock knew it’d drag over his sensitive prostate with every strike.

“Strokes with five different implements. We’ll start with twenty-five spankings and work our way down to five with a cane,” John said.

Sherlock sent a glare over his shoulder that told John not to go easy on him. “Please, John, punish me,” he said flatly to goad John further.

It worked. John’s mouth ticked up in that dangerous half smile Sherlock loved before the first slap landed on his arse. John didn’t hold back and Sherlock felt warmth bloom in his arse cheek. “One,” Sherlock counted obediently. This was a common punishment and he knew what was expected.

Another slap and Sherlock felt a chill run down his spine. John still wasn’t holding back. “Two,” he said as his other arse cheek went warm.

Sherlock felt the next spank hit lower, nearly the top of his thigh. It was even harder than the first two. “Three,” he groaned as his cock was pushed against the sheets with the force of John’s blow.

“Four, five, six!” Sherlock bucked with the blows as John laid three down on one spot on his other cheek. The butt plug was jamming into his prostate instead of smoothly dragging across it. Sherlock could already feel a puddle beneath his hips.

“Seven, eight!” Sherlock said with a half shriek as John landed two dead centre, dangerously close to his testicles. He tried to close his legs to protect himself, but he’d forgotten about the spreader bar. His ankles pulled at the restraints and he groaned as he realized he was exposed, trapped. God, it felt incredible.

“Nine!” Sherlock had nearly forgotten about the spanking during John’s pause. “Ten, eleven, twe-lve!” Sherlock’s breath hitched as they landed right over the same spot. He was already feeling tender and John wasn’t even halfway done. He still had more instruments to go too.

“Colour, Sherlock.”

“Green, sir. Please, spank me harder.” He knew it’d wind John up and he was right, John groaned from his spot behind him.

“Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen,” were harder and Sherlock felt water gather at the corners of his eyes. He rutted against the sheet to move the butt plug and get some pleasure.

Sherlock was given a little time to breathe before, “Sixteen, seventeen,” hit against his upper thigh. God, he wasn’t going to be able to sit for a week.

John was breathing heavily and Sherlock wiggled against the sheets. His arse stung but it was nothing compared to the feeling that he was turning John on.

“Eighteen!” Sherlock shrieked loudly as John hit directly on his testicles. Thankfully not as hard as he’d been hitting his arse but enough to make the tears fall.

“Colour, Sherlock.”

“Gre-en,” Sherlock said with a sob. God, he’d _asked_ for this.

“Such a good boy, you’re taking this so well,” John said.

Sherlock closed his eyes and set his head on the bed. His shoulders hitched with a sob as the tears ran. The next hits landed one on one cheek one on the other in rapid succession. “Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three,” Sherlock counted in-between sobs. He was miserable and the punishment wasn’t even half over. Even the pleasure-pain he was getting from the butt plug wasn’t helping.

Two hands groped at his arse, pushing into pained flesh and pulling his arse cheeks apart. The butt plug was twisted and pulled in and out.

“Please, sir. Please punish me, hit me hard, make me feel it,” Sherlock said. The break gave him a breather and now he was starting to feel like he was floating.

Sherlock felt the sting on his other upper thigh. “Twenty-four,” he counted. The last blow landed on his testicles. Sherlock’s back arched as a high-pitched cry was ripped from him. “Twenty-five!” He felt sick.

“Thank you, thank you,” Sherlock sobbed.

“Don’t thank me yet, we’re not done.”

“Oh, God!” Sherlock only had himself to blame. He knew John wouldn’t go easy on him unless he requested it. He could request it at any time, all he had to do was ask or say yellow. He wouldn’t though, he was stubborn and he loved the feeling he got when he accomplished what John set out for him.

The handcuffs were unbuckled and John hissed in sympathy. Sherlock figured they were rubbed raw. He could feel them now that John had drawn his attention to them. They didn’t hurt as much as he expected. He felt like he was floating and he realized he was approaching subspace.

John moved Sherlock’s wrists above his head and pressed them into the mattress, a silent order to keep them there. “I think we’ll use the riding crop next. You like it. Twenty strokes, yeah?”

“Yes, sir. Please,” Sherlock could feel himself sink into the fog. This was why they did this, this was why Sherlock pushed John for more, harder, to get here. It was better than the drugs. He was high.

The air next to Sherlock sang as John loosened up his arm, doing practice swings so as not to hurt Sherlock by accident. There was the dull thud of the crop against the bed and Sherlock moaned. He needed that. “Please, sir, hit me. Do it hard,” he begged.

“Needy,” John said and Sherlock could hear the smile in his voice.

There was a loud crack before pain bloomed in a line across Sherlock’s arse. “Ah!” The fog lifted a bit but came back in thicker. “One, thank you, sir.”

Another crack and pain bloomed over his hip. “Two,” he said as he rut against the sheet. His erection had wilted a bit during the spanking, taking some of the pressure off but now it was filling so fast he felt dizzy.

“Three!” The pain bloomed over his shoulder. “Ah! Yesss,” he hissed as it stung.

“God,” John moaned. Sherlock pushed his feet as wide as they’d go in the restraint and angled his arse up, pushing into the bed and making a scene for John’s enjoyment.

Four, five and six all rained down the other side of his back. He barely had time to say the numbers before eight and nine hit against his arse. Ten struck a little lower, right over the crease, he’d feel that as he walked for the next few days. Instead of saying the number he groaned in ecstasy.

“Count them, Sherlock. Ten,” John ordered.

Sherlock tried to shake out of the fog enough to do what he was supposed to. “Ten,” he repeated.

“E-eleven!” Sherlock had to grab the mattress in order not to slide off it. He felt a line of pain across his calves. His legs shook and threatened to give out. John gave him time to recover.

God, John was so, “Creative, Ah! So perfect. Ah! God, sir, you’re- Ah! You’re brilliant,” Sherlock was babbling aloud his words cut with cries of pleasure-pain as John rained down blows on his back.

“Counting, Sherlock.”

“Fifteen?” Sherlock guessed.

“Fourteen,” John corrected.

Even better. “Fourteen. Please, sir, more, harder, please!” Sherlock shivered as he felt the leather tongue slide over his abused body. John traced it up and down his spine, dragged it over the plug. Sherlock writhed on the bed and humped the mattress.

There was a hiss in the air and the sound of leather hitting flesh and Sherlock moaned as he felt his skin on his shoulder prick. “Fifteen.” He could feel that one welt. He stretched the skin to make it burn.

“Sixteen, seventeen,” Sherlock counted as the crop landed on the backs of each of his thighs. He didn’t feel pain anymore, only pleasure.

John dragged the leather over the plug in Sherlock’s hole and Sherlock rolled his head and moaned. Sherlock stretched out his hands and closed them, kneading the sheets like a cat. When John tapped lightly at Sherlock’s testicles he threw his head back and moaned.

“God, Sherl, you’re perfect.”

Sherlock purred at the praise.

There was a loud hiss in the air and a crack. “Eiiighteen!” Sherlock said in ecstasy as pleasure ripped across his hip. Another crack and more pleasure and Sherlock groaned out, “Nineteen.”

“Last one, pet.”

Sherlock was disappointed. He knew John wouldn’t up the count and more pleasure was coming so he begged, “Please, John, the crop, I need it. The last one, make it good.” He was having trouble stringing together coherent sentences.

The air sang and a loud crack sounded. Pleasure erupted over Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock mewled and writhed on the bed. “Twenty,” he said reverently.

“Good boy, you’re such a good boy, Sherlock. You want the belt now or do you need a break?” John asked as he rolled his shoulder.

“Now,” Sherlock said. He rolled over and thrust in the air to prove to John he was enjoying himself. His erection was deep red and leaking.

“Roll back over, pet,” John said as he took off his belt.

Sherlock did, raised his hands over his head and pushed his hips into the air. The welts stung as he moved and he plug shifted and he was panting with pleasure.

“Get up on the bed. Lay out.”

Sherlock crawled up slowly and laid on the bottom edge of the bed. He knew John did this so the belt didn’t wrap around and hit something he didn’t want it hitting. In this position, the plug put a tiny bit of pressure on his prostate. The little bundle of nerves used to be sensitive but now what made him hiss in pain before made him sigh in pleasure. He thrust forward and got more prostate stimulation. He moaned.

There was the sound of John undoing his belt and Sherlock shifted eagerly. Not needing prompting Sherlock begged, “Sir, punish me, I need it. I’ve been bad. Let me prove how good I can be.”

There was a lower pitched hiss in the air and Sherlock tensed. A louder crack and a different sort of pain then the crop created bloomed over Sherlock’s buttocks. “One,” he said.

“Two, three,” hit up over his shoulders. “Four,” hit down Sherlock’s spine. The belt burned instead of stung and Sherlock was settling into the sensation.

“Five,” Sherlock groaned as the belt hit up along his spine. He was tempted to lean up into the hits but John would just tell him to lay down. He wanted to be good for John so he held still.

Floating a bit Sherlock wasn’t deducing where the hits would land next and he was surprised when, “Six, seven, eight, nine,” hit up and down his thighs. With each one of those hits, Sherlock thrust into the sheets. He could feel a puddle from his precome gathering underneath his trapped erection.

Knowing it was pointless, he hadn’t been able to come with the cock ring yet and this wouldn’t change that, Sherlock thrust into the sheets when John gave him a breather anyway. He shivered and realized he was cold. He’d been sweating without realizing it.

“Ten, eleven, twelve,” hit across his calves. He thanked his dom silently for spreading out the pain. It’d make it easier to move around and sit in the morning.

“Thirteen!” Sherlock shouted as pain bloomed over the bottom of his feet. He writhed on the sheets and whimpered with need. “Brilliant, you’re brilliant. God, you’re perfect,” Sherlock babbled as he got a fresh wave of endorphins.

Sherlock shifted, waiting for the last blows and when they didn’t come Sherlock begged, “Please, hit me with the belt. I need it. Please, sir.”

The air sizzled and duel lines pain lashed in a cross over the small of Sherlock’s back, angled to miss his kidneys. “Fourteen, fifteen. Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

“Good job, pet. You did well. You ready for the paddle?”

“Yes, please, sir,” Sherlock said. He looked up at his Dom and saw him working out his shoulder. “Do you need a break, sir?”

“No, pet, I’m fine. Scoot up and hold your feet out.”

Sherlock crawled up the bed and hooked his feet over the side. “Please, sir, hit me with the paddle. Show me my place.” They were words Sherlock wouldn’t normally use, but he was high on endorphins and desperate for more pleasure-pain.

Their paddle had holes in it but was light. Sherlock had wanted the heavy one with holes but John had baulked, saying it would be too easy to hurt him.

John swung the paddle three times rapidly over Sherlock’s feet. There wasn’t just one hit for Sherlock to adjust to the sensation. Two on the right and one on the left. Sherlock pulled on the restraints around his ankles and arched in surprise. The butt plug shifted. He gasped and moaned. “Three!” He shouted because John had moved up and started paddling Sherlock’s arse.

Three times in rapid succession the paddle swung down and up, hitting the bottom of Sherlock’s plush arse, causing it to jiggle and pain bloomed not only where John hit but it pulled on the marks left by the crop, causing an additional sting. His erection dragged over the sheets. Plus his feet started to burn. His brain flooded and he forgot his own name.

Three more hits and Sherlock was nearly incoherent. These came down directly on his arse, shoving the plug deep and pushing it in hard. It pounded his prostate and Sherlock cried out, “Ah! Ah! Ah!”

Another hit right between where the last three were and the previous three. It was hard and Sherlock’s whole body moved. His erection and nipples dragged over the sheet, his welts from the crop stung, his whole arse and feet were on fire and he still had pleasant tingles from the belt. The butt plug pounded his prostate and Sherlock could feel the precome rush out of his tip. He cried out, long and high pitched, his back arched and he threw his head back.

“That’s ten,” John said and it barely broke through the fog in Sherlock’s brain.

“Thaaans,” Sherlock slurred out. He blinked and wondered why he wasn’t getting more. He had to focus to get out the question, “More?”

“No more,” John said.

Sherlock turned to look at him and whined.

“You want the cane?”

Sherlock made a dismissive noise. He didn’t like the cane.

“Last five, then we can play with something else.”

That was acceptable and Sherlock nodded.

“Slide down and bend over the bed, pet.”

It was a little tricky getting back down with the spreader bar but Sherlock managed to land on his sore feet. He made a little breathy moan at the pleasurable pain. He tangled his fists in the sheets and closed his eyes. He really hated the cane. But this was a punishment so it had to include something he didn’t like. At least John had saved it for last and the least amount of strikes.

John used his old cane from before Sherlock fixed him. The good part was that it wasn’t heavy. It could do serious damage but John never hurt Sherlock more than a couple of bruises.

The fog was clearing and Sherlock mourned its loss. It’d be harder to take the blows without it.

There was a hiss in the air and then everything was pain.

“One,” Sherlock gasped as the pain coalesced and Sherlock could feel that John had hit his arse.

“Two, three,” hit above and below the last one. Sherlock didn’t even feel pleasure from the plug. Only pain as the cane hit him. He whimpered.

“Almost done, pet. You’re doing so well, Sherl.”

Sherlock held on to the praise as John swung the next hit up and across so it hit where Sherlock’s thighs met his arse. Once the pain had receded a bit Sherlock whimpered, “Four.”

“Such a good boy, last one.”

It was a hard strike and Sherlock cried out as his erection was crushed beneath him. The only reason it hadn’t flagged was due to the ring. “Five,” Sherlock sobbed and realized he was crying.

“Good boy, good pet. Good job, Sherlock. You did so well.”

Sherlock tried to slide onto the floor but John caught him. Sherlock hissed as John pushed on his welts and bruises.

John laid Sherlock out on his front and said, “I’m going to get some cream and some more water. I’ll be right back pet. Ok?”

Sherlock whimpered something vaguely affirmative.

John came back and set the glass on the nightstand. He rubbed cream into all of Sherlock’s sore spots, being very careful and gentle. Sherlock soaked in the attention and had a small smile when John was done whispering praises and tending to Sherlock’s welts and bruises. He said he hadn’t broken the skin and Sherlock smiled, John was always so careful, so perfect.

“I love you,” Sherlock said quietly.

“I love you too, pet. You all done for today?”

Sherlock shook his head. He didn’t want this to end.

John rolled the cock ring off and wanked Sherlock slowly.

“Come for me, pet,” John said.

Sherlock gasped and came into his palm. He cleaned his hand with tissues and curled up on the bed, disappointed John was still gone. He wouldn’t have said no to a cuddle.


	20. Cock Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a slow chapter but I want to do the next sexy bit from Sherlock's POV

John came home, expecting to find Sherlock irritated and wound up. Sherlock hated to be told no. John guessed it was the reason Sherlock wanted to have sex during the case to begin with because he wasn’t allowed to while they were taking antibiotics. John also knew that Sherlock was clever and that he’d never keep him in line without some help.

Which is why he went to the shops.

“Sherlock?” he called.

There was no answer.

John checked the couch first, wondering if Sherlock had fallen asleep in the middle of his sulk, but he wasn’t there.

Next, John checked the bedroom. It had John’s old bed in it as well as the furniture that didn’t fit in John’s room anymore and all of John’s boxes that he’d wanted to keep were there as well. John decided he’d go through it later and move everything to a proper place.

He went upstairs and found Sherlock curled up asleep next to a used tissue.

If John had known it was that easy to get Sherlock to sleep on a case he would have slept with him long ago. (There were many reasons John wished he’d started sleeping with Sherlock long ago.)

John decided to let him sleep. He might pay for it later, Sherlock wouldn’t need sleep again until the case was solved, but he might stay up anyway so at least this way he’d get some rest.

He made himself some food and did some tidying up and he woke Sherlock at eight.

“Sherlock,” he said quietly while brushing the curls from Sherlock’s forehead.

Sherlock sprang up so suddenly that John had to jump back so they wouldn’t collide.

“Why did you let me sleep?” he demanded.

John didn’t bother answering. Sherlock wouldn’t care why in a moment.

“I got you something,” John said.

Sherlock’s eyes lit up before his brow furrowed in confusion.

“It’s not Christmas yet,” he said.

John felt something in his chest clench. So, Sherlock did expect a Christmas present. That meant he had one for John already.

“No, it’s something to help you from assaulting me while we’re on antibiotics.”

Sherlock made a face at John’s word choice.

“Here,” John said and pulled out his shopping bag.

Sherlock pounced on it pulling the device out of the sack and examining it closely.

“A cock cage?” he asked.

John suddenly felt awkward. Considering some of the kinky things Sherlock had searched on John’s laptop and left in his browser history it didn’t seem like something Sherlock would be opposed to. But Sherlock was giving John an odd look.

“Um, yes. I figured if you were locked away you wouldn’t be tempted.”

Sherlock smirked. “Wouldn’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll constantly be aroused and will be trying to get you off.”

“Oh,” John said. He hadn’t considered that.

“But if you were locked away I would have to behave.”

John met Sherlock’s eye. “Oh?”

Well, that hadn’t been John’s plan. But, it would work. He had to admit it was a better plan, seeing as how Sherlock didn’t expect anything in return if he were locked up. And John would be able to keep himself in check.

“Alright,” he agreed.

Sherlock shivered and smiled wickedly. John thought he heard him say, “mine,” under his breath. He undid John’s trousers and pulled his cock out of his pants. Sherlock was doing nothing to arouse John, none of his movements were unnecessary, but being the centre of Sherlock’s attention—especially when Sherlock had _that_ look in his eye—was getting John hard.

He carefully fit John through the little metal rings. Then he locked the contraption around John’s testicles so it would stay in place. The thing came with a little lock, which Sherlock took the keys for eagerly and placed them on a chain around his neck.

John might have rolled his eyes if he hadn’t found it so attractive.

“Can I…?” Sherlock trailed off.

“What?”

“Can I put in a butt plug?” he asked.

“No!” John found the idea insanely arousing, he imagined Sherlock felt the same.

Sherlock pouted but didn’t argue.

John looked down to see his flesh pushed out around the bars. His cock was trying to get hard but couldn’t. He saw a bead of clear fluid drip from the top.

God, he wanted Sherlock.

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all.

Sherlock looked at the time then complained at John for keeping them when they had a case on.

\----

The case took several irritating days. The clues were scattered and hard to come by. Sherlock said he felt like he was working through fog. John insisted he take the antibiotics anyway and that they didn’t cloud his thinking. Though, the alarm John set because they had to be taken at the same time every day had alerted the criminals to their presence dragging the case out even more.

Sherlock wanted to tease John, to play with him in his cage and John wanted that too so he didn’t allow it.

Sherlock had just given Lestrade his statement when the alarm went off and John announced it was the last pill. John had lied to Lestrade and the other officers, saying Sherlock had exposed them with one of his experiments. He’d discussed this with Sherlock beforehand. John hadn’t wanted to blame Sherlock when he was actually the one at fault but Sherlock had insisted that it was the most believable lie and had told it to Greg the next time he saw him.

On the cab ride home Sherlock rested his head on John’s shoulder.

John had wanted to go off and buy Sherlock a present but he couldn’t leave in the middle of a case for no reason and he didn’t want Sherlock to know he hadn’t gotten him a gift if he didn’t already.

He had no ideas. He’d asked Molly what she thought and she said she’d gotten him an entire skeleton. A classroom was getting rid of theirs for a fake one. John was fairly certain no matter what he got Sherlock he couldn’t top that. John didn’t ask Greg, he was a little afraid Greg would yell at him for not getting something by now or give it away to Sherlock.

Sherlock tried to stay awake but John took him upstairs and put him to bed. He hadn’t slept at all during the case where John had stolen a nap whenever he could. John knew Sherlock had some plan for John in his cage so he didn’t take the keys from Sherlock’s neck.

Instead, he went to their drawer. He showered then he used some of the strawberry lube to put the plug in place and went out to shop.

The plug made the cage so much worse. John had grown accustomed to the weight, he’d even adjusted to the frustrating throbbing sensation when his cock had tried to get hard. But now he had something rubbing against his prostate. He wildly imagined that he was leaking so much that he had a wet spot on his trousers. He hadn’t, of course, but it sure felt like it.

He bought Sherlock a scarf, he knew Sherlock liked them, and gloves, his current pair had a little hole at one of the fingers, and they were very nice but they weren’t the perfect gift.

John needed something that showed that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Sherlock. That he couldn’t imagine his days without Sherlock in them. That Sherlock was the love of his life.

Just as he thought that he passed a jeweller. He looked in the window and stopped mid-stride.

The people on the pavement behind him cursed and steeped around and John went into the shop. It was an antique dealer so many of the rings were for women. John looked in the cases and realized he was searching for a wedding ring. He wanted to marry Sherlock.

Would Sherlock think it was too soon after Mary?

Probably not, John decided. After all, Sherlock had taken the initiative to start their relationship in the first place.

Then, on the shelf, John saw a hat pin with a little bee on the end of it. Sherlock loved bees, but he didn’t wear hats, especially after the deerstalker incident.

But it gave John an idea.

Sherlock always talked about keeping bees someday and Mrs Hudson had just had the roof reinforced. John had heard people talk about keeping bees on rooftops and if he could get Mrs Turner to go along with it perhaps he could get Sherlock the bees and could keep a garden for them himself. Then they wouldn’t swarm away and they could spend time together.

John hurried home to put the plans in motion.


	21. Cock Cage Part Two - The Smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the porn half of the last chapter. I wanted to write it from Sherlock’s POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter, I’m all caught up, read the other two updates before reading this one.

Sherlock heard the door shut and he waited for John to come up the stairs. When he didn’t he peeked his head out of the bedroom.

“John?”

He could hear voices and he figured John got held up by Mrs Hudson. He flopped back onto the bed and sighed loudly. He mentally willed John to come up the stairs. The door opened and shut and Sherlock waited, listening, but he only heard Mrs Hudson puttering around her flat, no John.

Sherlock sighed again. John had gone out. He probably thought Sherlock was asleep, as if Sherlock could sleep when they were done with their antibiotics and he was once again free to wring orgasm after orgasm from John’s willing body.

He’d make John pay for making him wait like this. He’d keep John on edge for hours, torturing him with pleasure until he was incoherent. Only then would Sherlock take the cage off and, if John didn’t come immediately, Sherlock would keep him on edge for another hour before letting him come.

The door opened again and John’s tread was buoyant on the stairs. He was excited about something. Sherlock figured he was excited to get the cock cage off. After a week he must be frustrated, John usually masturbated once a day if he didn’t already have an orgasm that day. It was why Sherlock was so careful to make John come as often as he could. John needed sex.

“Sherlock, you’re awake,” John said, striding in confidently. Then he winced a bit.

“Well spotted, John.” Sherlock ignored John’s eye-roll and narrowed his eyes, trying to deduce why John seemed so uncomfortable.

John started unbuttoning his shirt, holding Sherlock’s gaze as he did.

Sherlock licked his lips. He wanted to strip John but he settled for taking off his own clothes. Naked was good, naked meant they got to have sex.

John toed his shoes off and dropped his trousers, pulling down his underwear with them.

John’s cock was red, pushing out around the rings as it tried to get hard. Clear fluid dripped from the tip.

Sherlock sank to his knees. He licked the fluid before taking the head of John’s cock into his mouth and sucking the fluid from it.

“Mmm,” he moaned. He tongued around the bars, tasting the sharp tang of metal along with John’s skin.

John’s fingers slid in Sherlock’s hair and massaged his scalp. Sherlock looked up to see John’s head thrown back, mouth open.

“Sherrrlock,” he moaned and tugged lightly on Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock moved down, mouthing John’s testicles before kissing the little lock only he had the keys for. He smelled something. Something fruity. It was the flavoured lube.

He gripped John’s hips hard, digging his fingers into the flesh. He spun John and gasped. He pulled John’s cheeks apart to get a better look.

John had the buttplug in and had used the flavoured lube to put it in.

Sherlock groaned and stuck his tongue out, licking the lube from around the plug.

John groaned and his knees buckled. He locked them before Sherlock had to do anything to keep him upright.

“Bed,” Sherlock said, manhandling John in that direction.

He pushed John face first onto the bed before climbing on himself. John rose to his knees and Sherlock went back to licking around the plug. He could taste John’s skin along with the lube. It made him salivate. He licked the saliva and lube mixture up from John’s perineum, dragging his tongue up and lapping around John’s hole.

“Joooohn-nnguh,” Sherlock said, undoing his trousers with one hand and taking out his cock.

“Sherlock, please,” John begged.

Sherlock worked the plug in and out, lapping the lube that came with it from John’s skin and replacing it with his saliva. He spun the plug and moved it so it ground down on John’s prostate.

He had John at his mercy.

_Mine._

He spread John’s legs wider and laid down on his back, taking John’s caged cock into his mouth. He worked the plug and John’s cock leaked into his mouth. He sucked and rolled the flavour over his tongue.

“Sherlock, please, _please.”_

John’s thighs quivered against Sherlock’s arms.

“Please, please, please, please,” John chanted, lowering his upper body to his elbows and dropping his head onto his forearms.

Sherlock blindly reached for his keys and fit one into the lock. When John heard the click he sobbed.

Carefully, Sherlock tried to remove the cage but John was too aroused. Sherlock shimmied out from between John’s thighs and rolled to get off the bed.

John made a sound of protest and Sherlock ran his hand down John’s flank.

“Be right back,” he said.

He tucked himself back away and bounded down the stairs happily. He’d have to ice John’s cock to get it to shrink. He’d have to get John aroused all over again.

 _Such a shame,_ he thought gleefully.

When he got back upstairs with the frozen peas John was sitting on the edge of the bed tugging on the cage fruitlessly making little destressed annoyed sounds.

Sherlock held up his prize and John shook his head and looked at Sherlock beseechingly. As Sherlock walked forward and John sighed, resigned.

When Sherlock pressed the frozen peas to John’s crotch he yelped and tried to get away. Sherlock reached out and held him in place by his hip, pushing him into the mattress. He held the peas there until his hand hurt.

He removed the peas, dropping them to the ground, and he quickly worked the rings off John’s cock, one by one.

John sobbed with relief when it was off Sherlock took it in its entirety into his mouth, warming John’s cock rapidly, causing him to cry out again. Sherlock worked John ruthlessly, tonguing at his cockhead and sucking hard.

“Sher-lock!” John complained, fingers tangled in Sherlock’s hair, head thrashing back and forth.

Finally, John’s cock warmed and started getting hard. Sherlock abandoned it prodding at John until he was back on the bed, arse in the air, head buried in a pillow. His cock hung low, shining with Sherlock’s saliva and flushed dark red.

Sherlock went back to John’s arse, dragging his tongue in a circle around the plug in John’s hole.

Then he pulled the plug out in one swift movement, sticking his tongue in before the hole closed.

“SHERLOCK!” John shouted before muffling his grunts with the pillow as Sherlock fucked John with his tongue.

When John was nice and open Sherlock used his tongue to lick out the lube. He wanted it all gone, he wanted to taste John and only John before he fucked him. It wasn’t the best system and Sherlock decided to make a seal with his lips and suck.

John arched his back and shouted Sherlock’s name into the pillow, chanting it as Sherlock fucked with his tongue, keeping the seal with his mouth.

He worked John until his jaw started to get sore. Then he took a break to suck on John’s testicles and run his teeth against John’s perineum. He bit at John’s arse before sucking a love bite onto one cheek.

“Fuck me, please, I need it,” John begged, shameless after so much teasing.

Sherlock went back to John’s hole and after a minute of sucking and licking the flavour of the lube was gone. He leaned back, wiping the saliva from his cheeks and chin and went to get the lube. He could finally fuck John without a condom and he was looking forward to seeing his come dripping out of John’s dark hole.

Sherlock squirted lube onto his hand and spread it over his cock. Then he squirted a dollop onto John’s arsehole and worked it in with two fingers, scissoring them to test how loose John was. John put up almost no resistance, in fact, he was squeezing on Sherlock’s fingers, trying to suck them deeper into his body.

He lined up and slid into John slowly, holding John’s hips as he did, John fought his hold, trying to impale himself onto Sherlock’s cock quickly. Despite how loose John was and how he was bearing down, encouraging Sherlock’s progress, Sherlock was determined to take John at his own pace. He was also a little worried about hurting him.

“I’m not going to break, fuck me!”

Sherlock smirked but kept his pace. Both he and John groaned loudly when Sherlock bottomed out. Sherlock waited there, petting John’s back as they both adjusted.

John lost his patience and used Sherlock’s distraction to rock forward and slam back. Sherlock gasped before deciding to let John set the pace. John’s hand went between his legs to stroke himself but Sherlock batted it away. He started moving counter to John so he was fucking John harder. John arched his back and bowed it, trying to find an angle where Sherlock was hitting his prostate. Sherlock tilted his own hips and John cried out.

John’s movements became erratic and Sherlock took John’s hips into his hands, pushing him forward as he moved back and pulling John close as he snapped his hips forward. He kept the angle the same.

A drop of sweat dripped from Sherlock’s nose onto John’s arse and he prayed John was close. He doubted he was, as John hadn’t tried to reach for his cock again. He tried to change his focus to something else, to recite the periodic table alphabetically backwards so he didn’t come first.

Then John’s back arched and he screamed. His muscles clamped around Sherlock’s cock and Sherlock was almost forced out.

John had come untouched.

The tension released and Sherlock pounded into him, trying to avoid his sensitive prostate, coming quickly. His vision went white and he realized he had stopped breathing. He took a deep breath and carefully pulled out. John slumped down bonelessly onto the bed.

Sherlock pried his cheeks apart to watch the come drip out.

It was mesmerizing and Sherlock decided to lay down and lick it out of John’s hole, using the same techniques he’d used when he was getting the lube out.

John jumped and writhed, calling Sherlock filthy with a husky voice.

Sherlock ignored him and licked and sucked, relishing the taste and the thought that he was cleaning John up and he wouldn’t have to get up. There seemed to be an almost endless deposit of come and Sherlock’s jaw started to get sore again as he fucked John with his tongue, feeling John’s muscles clench and loosen as he writhed below him.

He gave John’s arsehole one last good suck before deciding he’d done an adequate job and moving up to lie beside John.

“Filthy little creature, you are,” John said, pupils blown wide. He took Sherlock’s face in his hands and kissed him deeply.

Sherlock hummed happily into his mouth.

John’s head went back to the pillow without him opening his eyes and his breathing evened out. He started snoring lightly and Sherlock smiled.

He’d thoroughly satisfied John.

Sherlock pulled the sheet over them and wrapped his arms around John. He snuck his leg between John’s before going to sleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m thinking about editing this story, adding at the very least a scene where Sherlock milks John in the previous chapter. Having it beta’d and cleaned up. Do you think it’s worth it?


	22. Sounding

John woke, yawning widely. He was firmly entangled in the clutches of his favourite creature, the Sherloctopus. John was fairly certain he’d never tell Sherlock his little nickname for him when he cuddled because then the cuddling might stop and he wanted it to continue. He didn’t have nightmares when he fell asleep in Sherlock’s arms. He felt safe.

“Ahh~”

John went stiff and bristled in Sherlock’s arms. The Woman just texted him.

He knew Sherlock was excessively possessive of him and he might have been upset about that if it a) didn’t result in fantastic sex and b) John wasn’t equally as possessive of Sherlock. He felt like growling as Sherlock released John, rolling over and checking his phone.

“How is she?” John asked, trying (and failing) not to sound jealous.

“Gay,” Sherlock said. His fingers flew over the screen.

John wanted to pluck the mobile from Sherlock’s hands and throw it against the wall.

“She’s gay, John. As am I,” Sherlock reminded him.

“Why’s she texting you?” John asked.

Sherlock looked at him, frowning. Then he grinned. “Are you jealous?”

“Yes,” John said. He thought it was better to admit it seeing as how Sherlock knew the truth anyway and lying was pointless.

“She texts me occasionally, to tease me for being in the closet or to encourage me to come out to you.” He put the phone down on the bedside table. “I just informed her we’re together.”

“Ahh~ Ahh~ Ahh~”

Sherlock picked the phone back up and chuckled.

John tried not to grind his teeth too loudly.

“She says congratulations,” he said.

“That’s nice,” John said.

Sherlock smiled and kissed John on his nose.

“We’re just friends,” he said. “It’s nice to have another gay person to talk with.”

John relaxed at that. He was happy that Sherlock had friends. That he had people who cared about him, people he could talk with. He knew from Harry that being gay wasn’t easy and it was good to have other gay people to talk to.

“Well, that makes sense,” he said.

“Ahh~”

John frowned again. “But, could you change her text alert sound please?”

Sherlock gave John one of those half smiles that made his knees go weak.

“Alright.”

“Thank you,” John said.

\----

They had breakfast and John browsed rooftop beekeeping supplies. He realized there was a lot of knowledge that he needed to make the decision for the best and, since it was the twenty-second, there was no way anything he ordered would arrive in time. It was probably best to let Sherlock buy whatever he wanted anyway.

Sherlock would appreciate the thought and getting Mrs Hudson and Mrs Turner’s permission and that Mrs Turner had said she’d talk to the other neighbours so John could have a bigger garden as long as he grew her some tomatoes.

John picked up his phone and called Angelo while Sherlock was taking a shower.

“I need a reservation for two for the twenty-fourth,” John said.

Angelo was more than happy to give them a table. He even said he’d make a special menu for them.

“It’s a special night, yeah?” he said.

John agreed. First Christmas together. Although he was surprised that Angelo knew they were together. Perhaps Sherlock had stopped by or one of his network had said something.

He smiled happily as he hung up. He had a special meal planned and over dessert he’d tell Sherlock about his beekeeping plans. It would be perfect.

Sherlock came out of the shower running a large towel through his curls and had a small towel hanging low on his hips.

John licked his lips. His arse was still a little tender from Sherlock’s attention last night and he wanted to claim Sherlock after hearing Irene’s little moans. He had gotten a little something else when he’d bought the cock cage but had set it aside, unsure.

“What are you thinking about?” Sherlock asked, draping his large towel around his shoulders.

“Sounding,” John said watching Sherlock’s reaction closely.

Sherlock froze and looked at John with his impassive expression mask on.

“Oh?”

“I picked some up when I got the cage.”

“Oh.”

“So, what do you think?” John asked.

“I’m not sure I’m really qualified to do that,” Sherlock said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

His eyes were wide and there was colour on his cheeks. There were the beginnings of a tent under that skimpy towel.

“Well, lucky you have a qualified doctor willing to take you on as a patient.”

“Oh? Oh!” Sherlock said before blinking rapidly.

“Well?” John asked when Sherlock came back online.

“Alright,” he agreed.

It took some time to prepare. John boiled the steel sounds to disinfect them and then it took them time to cool. John took this time to make sure the lubricant he bought was sterile and grab a pair of sterile surgical gloves and disinfectant from their first aid kit. He disinfected a tray and set everything out on it.

“Where do you want to do this?” John asked.

Sherlock shrugged as if he didn’t care but John wasn’t fooled. Sherlock was nervous. It made sense, John would be nervous too if he were about to have metal rods shoved up his dick.

John guessed that Sherlock was going to be pretty noisy so they went upstairs. John set his tools on a nightstand away from the bed so they wouldn’t get tipped over.

“You need to hold still for this,” John said. “That is, if you’re not going to be doing it to yourself.”

Sherlock looked up at John. “Do it to myself?”

John saw that Sherlock’s cheeks were faintly pink.

“Does that turn you on? The thought of you doing this to yourself?”

“Yes, sir,” Sherlock said.

John felt a pleasurable shiver go down his spine.

“Alright then, pet. I want you to take that disinfectant spray and spray the head of your cock.”

Sherlock did.

“Now, spread some of that lube on your slit.”

Sherlock did that as well, it was a nice fat clump.

“Good, now I want you to put on one of those gloves, carefully.”

Sherlock’s hands shook as he did.

That wouldn’t do.

John took Sherlock’s face in his hands and kissed him, long and slow, keeping the rest of his body away so Sherlock wouldn’t touch him.

“Relax,” John said, resting his forehead against Sherlock’s. “You’ll enjoy it.”

Sherlock looked up and John kissed him chastely.

Then John took a step back.

“Now, take the second to smallest rod...”

Sherlock picked it up in his gloved hand.

“…Cover the bottom few inches with lube.”

Soon the slightly curved piece of metal was glistening with lubricant.

“Good boy,” John said, petting Sherlock’s curls.

“Stabilize the sound with one hand and place the end to the opening,” John instructed.

John licked his lips as he watched Sherlock do so. The shiny metal had to be cold by now. It was going to be in Sherlock. God.

“Let the sound slide in, let gravity do the work.”

Sherlock whimpered a high sound out of his nose.

As John watched the shiny metal sound slide slowly into Sherlock’s cock.

Sherlock gasped.

“Does it hurt? Don’t force it,” John said quickly.

“No, it’s just… weird,” Sherlock answered.

The rod slid in a couple more centimetres before it stopped.

Sherlock’s hand on his cock twitched.

“Give it a minute, get used to it,” John said.

Sherlock made a desperate sound low in his throat.

“Tell me how it feels, pet.”

“It’s weird. It’s cold. It’s impaling me.” Sherlock made another noise.

“You like it, don’t you? Look, your cock is starting to get hard.”

It was. It was starting to fill out in Sherlock’s hand, making the rod look all the more impressive.

“God, look at you,” John gasped. Sherlock was red from his face all the way down his chest.

“Can you move it?” John asked.

“Yes, I think. Sir,” Sherlock said stutteringly.

“Move it out, slowly.”

Sherlock made a high pitched keening noise as he did.

“Tell me how it feels,” John said. He lost composure watching the rod move. He undid his flies and palmed his own cock.

“It’s weird. It’s moving inside me. It’s… I can’t.”

“Colour?” John said, hand stilling.

“Green,” Sherlock said. “I can’t describe it,” he clarified.

John was relieved, he let go of the breath he was holding. “Ok, that’s ok, pet. Just keep moving the sound.”

Once the sound was pulled free of Sherlock’s cock John had him add more lube and let it fall back in.

“John, John!” Sherlock shouted, alarmed. His cock was hard now. John knew the sensation was different.

“It’s ok, pet, just let it fall. You’re doing so good.” John licked his lips and started running his hand up and down his cock.

Once the sound stopped naturally John licked his palm and stroked his cock.

“Good, good. Now, carefully, _carefully_ , pull it half-way out,” John said.

Sherlock did, his arms breaking out in goosebumps.

“John?” Sherlock asked, looking up at him, open and trusting.

“Let it back in. Fuck your cock, Sherlock,” John said, uncaring that Sherlock wasn’t calling him ‘sir.’

John had him slide the sound up and down twice more before allowing him to take it out and set it on the tray.

“Sterilize the rest of your penis,” John said.

Sherlock obediently sprayed his cock with the disinfectant.

John had him put more lube on his cockhead before telling him to put on the other glove.

“Now, I want you to pick up the plug.” The penis plug John had bought had little bumps, ridges around the outside and was hollow on the inside. There was a ring around the top that was meant to wrap around the cock head.

Sherlock looked confused and so John pointed to the device.

John knew that Sherlock had to be sensitive by now and was probably approaching his limit.

The plug was a little wider than the sound, especially around the ridges but John really wanted Sherlock to put it on.

“Go slow, Sherlock,” John said, hovering over him.

Sherlock had to use a little pressure to slide the plug into place and John had to grip the base of his cock hard to keep from coming at Sherlock’s tortured-pleasure expression.

“Colour?” John asked, wanting to make sure he was reading Sherlock correctly.

“Green,” Sherlock gasped and pushed the last little ridge in.

“God, Sherlock,” John gasped, pointing and telling Sherlock how to keep the plug in place.

“Now, fuck your hand,” John ordered.

“What?!”

“Masturbate, Sherlock,” John said firmly.

Sherlock’s large gloved hand wrapped around his cock and he pulled up. He hissed.

“Gently, now,” John said, his own hand roughly moving over his cock.

Sherlock carefully ran his hand over his cock his body shaking.

“Masturbate until you come,” John said.

Sherlock looked up at him in alarm.

“Do you need help?” John asked.

Sherlock nodded warily.

John didn’t want to touch Sherlock’s cock but he could touch the rest of him. He took off one of Sherlock’s gloves and had him get up on the bed on his knees and his one ungloved hand. He had Sherlock keep the gloved one on his cock.

Then John took out the prostate massager and had Sherlock stand. He covered the device in lube and only gave Sherlock a minimum of preparation before sticking it in. John clicked it up to the third setting before making Sherlock sit back down.

Sherlock howled but John wasn’t done.

He put Sherlock’s ungloved hand on his cock and pressed it against Sherlock’s lips.

“Open up,” John said.

Sherlock did and John pushed in. Sherlock had to bend over because John was so short but John checked and Sherlock’s torso wasn’t touching his penis. Sherlock wrapped his ungloved hand around the base of his cock to hold it while he sucked.

John groaned as Sherlock sucked him. Sherlock was being used in every orifice. He was John’s toy. To torture, to pleasure.

Sherlock made desperate sounds as he sucked John’s cock. John could hear the lube squelch in his other hand, the buzz of the massager and it was music to John’s ears.

A drop of sweat fell from John’s chin onto Sherlock’s nose, joining the sweat running off Sherlock’s brow.

Suddenly Sherlock pushed John away. John stumbled backwards and saw Sherlock fall apart. His toes curled and his legs twitched. His head was flung back, mouth open but there was no sound. Come shot out of the hole in the penis plug up, some landing on his cheek, the rest splattering down Sherlock’s chest.

Then Sherlock screamed, an ear-splitting shriek and John worried he’d killed him. But more come shot out of the tip of Sherlock’s cock, dripping messily over the bed and Sherlock’s legs.

The sight was amazing and John came on the spot, shooting his come across Sherlock’s chest. He took a moment to breathe before he ran to Sherlock, turned him carefully and clicked off the massager.

Sherlock twitched but held his cock firm, just like John had told him to, and kept it from touching anything.

John put on a second pair of gloves and took Sherlock’s cock into his hands. He removed the ring and looked up at Sherlock.

“This might hurt,” he warned.

Sherlock mumbled incoherently.

John pulled it out steadily, keeping Sherlock’s cock in place with one hand.

Sherlock shouted and his fist hit the bed but otherwise, he didn’t move.

John inspected Sherlock’s cock carefully. It looked a little inflamed, but then it had been through an ordeal.

“Stand up, Sherlock, I need to see your urine.”

Sherlock looked at him, horrified.

“I just need to make sure you’re not bleeding. And you need to flush your urethra.” John wasn’t into watersports.

“In a minute,” Sherlock said and tried to roll onto the bed properly.

John took his wrist and yanked him to his feet.

“No, you need to go now,” John said firmly. Then, in a more gentle tone, he asked, “Do you want me to remove the massager?”

“Please,” Sherlock said.

John pulled it out and set it aside to be washed. Sherlock walked into the loo and did his business.

“Any blood?” John asked.

“No,” Sherlock said. “Can I sleep now?”

John chuckled. He hadn’t realized the secret to a sleepy Sherlock was an orgasm.

“Yes,” he said.

Sherlock pulled him down into the bed with him and John watched Sherlock doze for a bit before picking up his book and reading. He wanted to be right here when Sherlock woke. Because it had been a Dom/sub scene and Sherlock might drop, because Sherlock might have hurt himself and John wanted to be there to see the signs if he did and because John didn’t want to be anywhere other than right at Sherlock’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, I don't know squat about sounding. I got all my information from these websites: https://www.lovehoney.com/bondage/cock-ball-toys/buyers-guide/what-is-urethral-sounding/ https://mrracy.com/urethral-sounding-guide/ and I hope I didn't write something terribly wrong. If I'm giving bad advice please tell me in the comments. If I can't re-write the bit then at least I'll leave a new note in the comments.


	23. Handy at Angelo's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the name to something less American. This is what happens when I just post without betaing or even taking a day to edit!

Christmas Eve, John had some sort of plan for them. Sherlock was happy to go along with it so long as it didn’t interfere with his own plans. John had reservations at Angelo’s and Sherlock was worried he was going to try and propose. He’d been worried and Sherlock hadn’t deduced why until John started acting smug. John hadn’t had a Christmas present. But, now he did. And he was proud of it. It was the same expression he saw on his own face when he thought about his present for John.

Excited, smug and a little scared.

What if John said no? What if John was happy with their relationship the way it was and didn’t want to get married again? What if by proposing Sherlock ruined everything?

Unlikely.

Sherlock figured that if John didn’t want to get married again he’d politely decline and their relationship would carry on like normal. Sherlock wouldn’t mind if John didn’t want to marry him after what happened with Mary. As long as John stayed by Sherlock’s side Sherlock was happy.

He’d be happier if John said yes, though, which was why he was asking.

He wanted John’s ring on his finger, proof that John had chosen him and he wanted his ring on John’s finger so all the various people who wanted to flirt with him would know that he was taken. That he was Sherlock’s.

Sherlock had a plan. He’d done a lot of research. He’d wanted to propose at Angelo’s or maybe the Chinese restaurant they’d gone to after their first case together but both Angelo and the internet said that was a bad idea. Sherlock didn’t want John to feel any pressure to have to say yes to save Sherlock embarrassment and he didn’t want John to say yes but then say he didn’t mean it when they got home.

Plus, John had proposed to Mary in a restaurant.

So, when John said he wanted to go out that night Sherlock had put on his best suit and the purple shirt John liked so much and tucked the little box with John’s ring into his pocket, just in case.

John chatted happily with Sherlock while they walked to Angelo’s and Sherlock tried to keep up but he was busy watching John, deducing every little action, searching for a sign that John was going to steal Sherlock’s thunder and propose.

John took his normal seat, the bench in front of the window and Sherlock relaxed. It would be very hard for John to get down on one knee in front of Sherlock in that seat.

Sherlock was able to listen to John’s stories and engage with him properly. John glowed in the light of the candle Angelo brought for their table. When John started giggling with a glass of wine in his hand Sherlock nearly broke and proposed right then.

“I wanted to tell you your Christmas present,” John said.

“Tell me?” Sherlock asked. Definitely not proposing then.

“I didn’t want you to think I didn’t get you anything,” John said. “I just didn’t know the proper things to get.”

Sherlock took a sip of wine and waited.

“I talked to Mrs Hudson and Mrs Turner and they said we could put up a roof garden.”

Sherlock didn’t understand. He knew John liked gardening and had one when he was a child and wanted one now but how was that a gift?

“And you could tell me what to plant for your bees,” John said, smiling.

“Bees?”

“Yes, Mrs Hudson said the roof is stable enough now for us to put up a beehive or two. And if you tell me what to plant for them I can take care so they don’t swarm away and you don’t have to remember to water them.”

Sherlock perked up. He wondered what sort of hives would be good for the roof and what flowers would make enough food with just two roofs to work from.

“And, Mrs Turner said that she’d talk to the other neighbours if we grew her some tomatoes.”

Sherlock was excited. He clapped his hands together.

Bees!

He took John’s face in his hands and kissed him from across the table.

Bees! Now, on the roof. And while he watched them John could be with him, taking care of the plants.

Sherlock slid his hand under the table to John’s thigh. He slid his hand up and groped John’s cock through his trousers.

John choked on his wine.

Sherlock took a calm sip of his own wine while his fingers undid John’s zip.

“Sherlock,” John hissed.

Ignoring him, Sherlock reached into John’s pants and started stroking his cock.

John's face was bright red but his cock got hard quickly. Sherlock saw that it was John’s adrenaline kink. Sitting in the middle of a restaurant, in front of a window, getting a handjob in the middle of dinner.

Sherlock ran his finger over the head of John’s cock, looking for moisture, he didn’t think he could get away with licking his palm as lubricant. There was only a small bead to be found and so Sherlock was gentle. He stroked John, working him with his fingers and his palm, stroking, fondling, teasing John.

John’s fork shook in his hand.

Sherlock took a bite of food with his left hand as he collected another bead of moisture.

“Please, Sherlock,” John whispered.

“Do you want me to stop?” Sherlock stilled his hand.

“God, no,” John whispered.

Sherlock continued his ministrations even while Angelo stopped by to drop off their dessert.

That earned him enough drips from the tip of John’s cock to rub his hand up and down properly.

John sweated and shook next to Sherlock and his cock grew harder.

Sherlock cupped his hand to catch John’s come.

He held John’s gaze as he licked his hand clean.

“Jesus, Sherlock,” John gasped.

Sherlock smirked at him before offering him a bite of tiramisu from his fork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow is the last chapter. :'(


	24. An Indecent Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, the proposal isn't indecent, what comes after is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I messed up. 1000 words into the chapter I realized it was supposed to be from John’s POV but I’m not rewriting at this stage so sorry, if I decide to go back and edit I’ll do it over. :P

Sherlock woke and took a shower, taking extra time to make sure every curl was perfect and his shave was close and he hadn’t missed any spots. He put on his good cologne. Then he went and made John breakfast. He went to wake John and while he was getting up he set out the table.

They enjoyed the meal together. After that Sherlock played their song on his violin.

“You added to it,” John said.

Sherlock had added to it. He included the proposal and John saying “yes” and them keeping bees on the rooftop. He’d stopped there, not wanting to include the wedding both because he didn’t want to give his plans away and he didn’t know what type of wedding John wanted.

“It’s wonderful,” John said.

Sherlock smiled. He got his mobile out and texted Lestrade:

**Now.**

“Anything on?” John asked.

“No,” Sherlock said, taking his seat and stretching out his feet.

“Do you have any other plans for today?” John asked. Sherlock knew he was wondering what his gift was. He had seen John not-so-subtly looking under the tree.

“No,” Sherlock said, wiggling his toes.

John’s mobile rang, Sherlock could hear the conversation.

“Sherlock’s not answering his phone. I’ve got a case,” Lestrade said.

“Oh,” John said he looked at Sherlock. He frowned and mouthed, “Why?” at Sherlock.

“Boring,” Sherlock said.

“Look, I know it’s not an interesting case but everyone’s off for the holidays and we just need him to run some evidence at the lab. It’ll take all of five minutes,” Lestrade said.

“We’ll be there,” John said.

He gave Sherlock a firm look and Sherlock rolled his eyes in response. He stood and went upstairs to change out of his pyjamas. He’d worn his best suit yesterday so he settled for his nice blue one with a light blue shirt.

John had already changed while Sherlock was making breakfast so as soon as Sherlock went downstairs John was ushering him out the door. Sherlock didn’t miss that John was licking his lips and that he’d checked out his arse before he put on his coat.

Sherlock tried not to look too smug or nervous. He hadn’t told Lestrade that he was proposing just in case John said no, he only said it was for John’s Christmas present. He couldn’t bear the idea of Lestrade and Molly giving him pitting looks if John didn’t say yes. Now that the two were a couple they’d gossip worse than ever.

So, Sherlock wasn’t surprised when Molly grabbed John on their way to the lab. Lestrade had blabbed and Molly probably thought Sherlock needed a moment to set up.

Sherlock went to the lab, took off his scarf and coat and fiddled with the microscope. It was the lab where they’d met, Sherlock couldn’t think of a more important place for his life. Here, he’d met the love of his life.

He sat on the stool and looked in the microscope and waited.

John came in after what felt like an eternity, coffee in his hand.

“Thought you’d be done by now,” John said. “Greg said five minutes.”

Sherlock hummed and waited until John came over and set down his coffee before looking up.

“Wait, why isn’t there a slide…” John said, choosing the exact wrong time to be observant.

Sherlock slid off the stool and down on one knee.

“Oh, my god. Sherlock?”

“John Watson, when we met you said that something had finally happened to you, that I was strangely likeable and that I was charming.”

“Oh my god,” John whispered. His face was twisted and Sherlock couldn’t read it.

He couldn’t stop though, not now, not until John told him to.

“And when I met you, I felt exactly the same. I needed an assistant and there you were, perfect for the job. But you were more than an assistant, you were my friend.”

“Sherlock,” John gasped and covered his mouth.

“And by the time I figured out I was in love with you I was too late and I was happy to stand aside because I want you to be happy. That’s all I want, is for you to be happy.”

John made a choked sound, it looked as if he were about to cry.

“But now I’ve got a second chance and it might be too soon but I don’t want to wait. It’s only been a month—well, not a full month, but still—I think I’ve proven that I can make you happy.”

“Oh, Sherlock, of course you can, you do.”

Sherlock pulled the ring from his pocket with a bit of difficulty, he was kneeling on his wrong knee, and he opened it.

“John Watson, will you make me the happiest man on earth and do me the honour of marrying me?”

John didn’t say anything and Sherlock waited, listening to the clock tick on the wall.

Finally, John sucked in a rattling breath, his eyes were wet but tears weren’t falling.

“Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, of course. Of course, I’ll marry you.”

John took the ring and slid it onto his own finger. He frowned when it stopped before the second knuckle.

Sherlock stood and explained quickly. “It’s a gay engagement ring. It’s supposed to sit on your ring finger there. It’s a new idea. I've got one too, at home.”

John didn’t say anything.

“I can get other rings, or I can send these and get them sized,” Sherlock rambled, terrified that he’d messed something up.

“No, it’s wonderful, Sherlock. I just—” John lunged forward and cut himself off by pressing his lips to Sherlock’s.

Sherlock’s eyes went wide with surprise but he recovered quickly and kissed John back.

John had said yes!

Sherlock found his own eyes getting misty when they broke the kiss.

“God, Sherlock,” John growled and Sherlock felt his blood rushing south.

John kissed Sherlock again, more forcefully this time.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too,” Sherlock replied before his mouth was caught in a bruising kiss.

John walked him backwards and Sherlock tripped over the stool he’d been sitting on.

“Lie down,” John said, voice rough.

Sherlock liked where this was going. They wouldn’t be disturbed, it was Christmas.

He took his coat and spread it across the floor while John took off his shoes, trousers and pants. John kissed Sherlock and ran his hand up under Sherlock’s shirt.

“Have I ever told you how much I love this suit?” John said.

“No,” Sherlock said.

John pulled Sherlock to the floor and groped him before undoing Sherlock’s laces and taking off his shoes.

Sherlock watched impatiently and lifted his hips before John had even undone his zip.

John chuckled at his antics before shucking the trousers and pants off.

Then John buried his face in Sherlock’s crotch and Sherlock yelped as warm wet heat enveloped his cock.

Sherlock looked down to see John, lips red and shiny, eyes closed, long blond eyelashes brushing his pink cheeks. He licked and sucked and Sherlock had to stop him.

John’s ring caught one of the lights in the lab and Sherlock had to wrap his fingers around the base of his cock in order to stave off his orgasm.

John winked and reached into his pocket, pulling out a tube of lubricant.

“You were planning this,” Sherlock accused.

“Are you complaining?” John asked mischievously.

“No,” Sherlock said. He spread his legs wide and John laughed.

John reached down and worked a finger into Sherlock’s hole. John was careful with Sherlock’s prostate and his movements were gentle. Sherlock tried to relax, he needed John in him now!

“Greedy,” John said and kissed Sherlock’s knee.

“Just get on with it,” Sherlock said, stroking his cock.

John got another finger in and scissored a bit before cursing and pouring some lube over his cock. Sherlock felt the cold goop drip down as John poured a little over his hole.

Sherlock hooked his ankles around John’s waist as John lined himself up.

They both groaned as John breached him. Sherlock bore down but John didn’t go any faster. He tried to scoot but all he managed was to angle his hips so that John hit his prostate as he pushed in.

When he did Sherlock flung his head back and wrapped his hands around John’s biceps. He needed to hold onto something to keep himself grounded.

John rolled his hips and Sherlock moaned. He felt no need to keep quiet and he encouraged John with loud vocalizations.

Sherlock kept moving his hands as he felt John’s cock slide inside him and John caught his hand. And twined their fingers. Sherlock could feel his ring on John’s finger and it made his cock twitch. He felt it drip onto his stomach.

John was his! John was _his._

“Oh, god, John!” Sherlock moaned.

John’s hips smacked into his and Sherlock found himself getting close. He reached his hand between them to let John know. John noticed and sped up his thrusts.

Sherlock wrapped his free hand around John’s head and pulled him down for a kiss.

There was a tightness in his abdomen he knew he was close.

He tightened his grip on John’s hand, John’s ring digging into his finger as he worked his cock.

“John, John!”

Sherlock threw his head back as he tensed and knocked his head against the hard floor. He saw stars as he came.

“Sher—Sherlock!” John shouted and Sherlock felt John grow and tense and come inside him.

John dropped his head, pressing their foreheads together.

“I love you,” Sherlock whispered.

John kissed him before saying, “I love you too.”

Sherlock winced when John pulled out and he felt moisture leak out of him onto his coat.

“You ok?” John asked.

“Fine,” Sherlock said. “Great,” he corrected. “Brilliant, fantastic,” he said. He had a fiancé. 

He had John Watson.

Forever.

Sherlock pulled John, who was looking for his pants, down for a kiss.

"Happy Christmas, John," he said when they parted.

"The happiest," John said with a smile. "Now help me find my pants."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm GizmoTrinket221 on Twitter


End file.
